I LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. # 

t ^ t 

^ [SMITHSONIAN DEPOSIT.] J 



UNITED ST-ATES OF AMERICA t 



FELICITY 



ctrital Tvomaiuc 



EI. IZABKTH O. KINNEY 



u^n^' 



NEW YORK: 

JAMES S. DICKERSON, 097 BROADWAY, 

1855. 



A 






Entered, according lo Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by 

JAMES S. DICKERSON, 

111 llie Clerk's Office of tlie District Court for the Southern District of 
Xew York. 



15. ©. Jenkins, printer, 

No. 26 Frankfort Street. 



f 



NOTE. 

Should there be any doubt in the reader's miud as to 
the possibility, at so late a period, of such events as are 
portrayed in this poem, the Author has only to state, that 
its leading^ incidents are founded on fact. 



PART I 



FELICITY 



I. 

The convent bell now calls to vespers, 

All the nuns together come ; 
Ave Marias blend in whispers, 

Solemn music fills the dome. 
Where is Felicita — the maid 

Whose pensive step is always lingering? 
Ah, there she comes, in white arrayed, 

Abstractedly her missal fingering ! 
And now beside the rest she's kneeling — 
Mantling tresses half concealing 



F E L I CI T A, 

The pure marble of that brow ; 

Her white hands are clasped ; and now 

Move those pale lips, soft and slow, 
To the organ's mournful pealing, 
And there comes a holy feeling 
O'er her heart and senses stealing. 

Lower, lower seems to bow — 

Weighed by thought — that head ; and how, 
Like a water-lily pending 
O'er the stream, her neck is bending, 

Till — as in the glassy river 
Sees the lily all its grace — 

Calm reflection back doth give her, 
True to life, her moral face : 

Still she keeps her prayer repeating — 
Prayer's the music to her thought — 

Still her inner glance is meeting, 
From that faithful mirror brought, 

Her own likeness, trace, for trace. 



FELICITA. 



II. 



Now the lioly vespers cease ; 
Twiliglit's curtain is descending — 
Day's tumultuous rule is ending 

In the gentler reign of peace : 
To their cells the nuns repair, 
Each to sleepy tasks of prayer ; 
All to count their beads, save one, 
Who gives thanks that she's alone 
For she hath too little share 
In what makes the others' care ; 
Eather would she from afar 
Hold communion with a star ; 
Or, to be still more in tune, 
Worship tranquilly the moon. 
Why, oh why, then, is she there ? 
Who's the maid Felicita ? 



10 F E L I C I T A . 



III. 



Nature's been a generous motlier 

Unto this, her truest child ; 
She, alas ! has here no other. 

And her father never smiled 
On the daughter he may claim — 
Unworthy of a father's name. 
He's a trafiicker, who, bent 

Ever on his sordid wishes, 
Deems that gain is life's intent ; 
While his heart by coins inclosed — 

Thick as on the backs of fishes 
Are the lapping scales disposed — 
Hath no generous opening, where 
Love may find an entrance there ; 
Nor, within concealed, a trace 
That Love ever there had place : 
Dark his mien, with passion scarred ; 

Thoughts of gain his brow contracting ; 



FELICITA. 11 

Traits, once fair, by avarice marred, 

Gleams of cunning smiles refracting ; 
Agile eyes, that seem averting 

Candor's open, daylight glance — 
Oft their own regard inverting. 

Sending treacherous looks askance : 
Such is he ! yet, when he wills it, 

Coil his baser passions up — 
Takes his eye a serpent charm ; 
Then his comrade, as he fills it. 

Grasps and drains his poisoned cup, 
Never once suspecting harm : 

Woe to her on whom he levels 
This, his lure ! she'll not escape 

Till O'er her lost peace he revels, 
Or, her mind to his takes shape. 

I v. 

Thus, he once did subjugate — 
Luring from the parent-nest — 



12 F E L I C 1 T A . 

One, wlio made by him to languish, 

Found — alas, it was too late 1 — 
In her lingering, festering anguish. 
That a viper stung her breast ; 

One, from whom death's struggle wrested 

A frail dovelet, to be nested 

With a vulture — and one day 

In her turn become his prey. 



V. 



He, maliciously content 

With his victim, fair to see. 

Did her joyous name invent ; 

Child of France — that laughing clime- 
Born, too, in a prosperous time. 
Yet, whate'er her name might be, 
Unfelicitous was she. 



FELICITA. 13 

How his avarice did gloat 

On her promised charms, when he 
Placed her in this nunnery ! 

Timid child ! her slender throat 
Choked with feeling there confined, 
When she found herself consigned 
To the cloister's dismal wall, 
Whose dark frown did her appal. 



VI. 

Her unnourished heart had panted 

For the breast of sympathy, 
And she felt that what was granted 

To her mates, not hers could be- 
That love's fount for her was dried 
When her poor young mother died. 
Those who never felt heart-need — 
Gnawing void, more keen than pain- 



14 F E L 1 C I T A . 

How, when famished natures plead, 
Should they, in their selfish blindness, 
Know to give the milk of kindness, 
Which alone can love sustain ? 
Felicita saw well that there 
Her heart must pine, as everywhere ; 
That in no common bosom dwelt 
What could fill the void she felt : 
Hers must be a life alone — 
Hearing round her love's fond tone ; 
She, the youngest, fairest fair. 
Thro' the veil of sadness seen, 
Still, despite her touching mien, 
Only Pity's heart could share. 



VII. 

So, among the nuns she moves, 
One apart — unheeding them ; 



FELICITA. 15 

None for her true feeling proves — 

None her names, save to condemn : 
They but find her cold — nor know 
How to look that ice below ; 
How to melt its surface through 
With the penetrating dew 
Which from one heart on another 

Falls so warm and gratefully, 
Soft'ning ice that needs must smother 

Feeling's fount, if there it be : 
They know not that the heart's tide 

Inward turned, ne'er flows again, 
If its springs be not supplied 

By affection's dew and rain. 



VIII, 

An inner life she lives, for, even 
Denied to nuns is converse sweet 



16 F E L 1 C I T A . 

With beauties peopling earth and heaven, 
To yearning hearts companions meet. 

At night when silence reigns within — 
Dian above, and sadness ronnd, 

She breaks thro' law, nor feels it sin. 
To seek the only opening found — 

The window of her narrow cell, 
And thence gaze up into the sky ; 

For what she asks not, nor could tell, 
Save that some solace seems on high : 
Or, when sleep idly loiters by. 

And heavier than with slumber, are 
With tears those lids, whose fringes lie 

Like a Madonna's — while her prayer 

Soars to God's Mother, because hers is there- 
Some gentle spirit seemeth nigh, 

And soft hands wipe the sluggish drops 
Which on her oval cheek remain — 

As on the peach's down, when stops 
The shower, rest pearly drops of rain. 



F E L I C I T A 



IX. 



I said that Nature to her child 
A generous mother was ; for she, 
With queenly height and majesty, 

In her hath blent all graces mild : 
Her eyes are like a brimming lake 
Which hue and light from heaven doth take ; 
Her smile is Morning's ray serene 
Ere sunlight makes too glad the scene ; 
The mould of intellect her brow ; 
Her lips were curved for Cupid's bow, 
Tho' now, compress'd with thought, seem thin, 
And white, save by the pearls within ; 
An ebon mantle is her hair — 
So long, that for a widow 'twere 

A mourning veil, on earth to trail ; 
So lustrous, that the stars might shine 
Mirrored upon its surface fine, 



18 F E L I C I T A . 

And she, enwrapt by it, compare 
With night's starred goddess in her veil ; 

While classic features, coldly fair, 
And marble paleness, make her seem 
One of the few of whom we dream — 

A beauty half divine ! 

X. 

But beauty fades, and discreet Nature 
Joined to such grace of form and feature, 

Intrinsic majesty — a mind 

Above all outer charms combined, 
As far as over mental gifts 

Rises her heart of truest kind : 
Pre-formed to what o'er sense uplifts 

The human soul, untaught, to her 
Without a veil do truths appear, 
Which knowledge scarcely maketh clear 

To others, tho' interpreter. 



FELICITA. 19 

The soul sometimes in native clearness 

Sees tli« wide heaven of truth reflected 
In its own bosom, with more nearness 

Than through lore's telescope inspected : 
As in the bosom of a river 

Unnavigated, Heaven is seen 
In truthful glory mirrored ever — 

Sometimes without a cloud between ; 
While in the navigated stream 

But fragments of the sky appear, 
And these oft troubled as a dream, 

Because the waters are not clear. 



XI. 

Felicita's strong power to love, 
As yet, is only latent force ; 
For her father's brutal course 

Nothing save disgust can move : 



20 FELICITA, 

Filial ties were long ago 

Severed from her tender heart, 
And once broken, does she know 

To replace them, now by art? 

She's not Art's, but Nature's child- 
Simple as she's undefiled ; 

Kind and bland she needs must be — 
Goodness is her being's law ; 

But, tho' swayed by charity. 
Her deep heart none ever saw. 



XII. 

Nature her contradictions has — 

Her humors and her freaks : 
Thus, of a sire who base-born was — 

For lowest deeds of night ; 

This radiant creature sprang — as breaks 
From darkness foul the queen of light ! 



PART II 



F E X. I C T T ^\^ 



I. 



Kature and Freedom ! ye, akin, 

Emotions kindred do inspire : 
Ye touch, tlie same true chord within — 

Ye kindle the same hallowed fire ! 
In every bosom where is living 

A heart that struggles to be free : 
In every noble spirit striving 

To give its fellows liberty : 
There is a yearning for glad nature — 

A love of prairies, rivers, wild- wood. 



24 FELICITA. 

And of each sportive, bounding creature 

That was a sympathy in childhood. 
So inverse : who feels not by mountains 

Springing from earth to reach the sky — 
By cataracts — by upleaping fountains, 

Which ever seek their source on high — 
Who feels not freedom in his heart 

Leap up to its Original, 
And thence descending, life impart. 

And blessings in its liberal fall ? 
But what so gives this sense of freedom — 

This feeling, which in deeds must live, 
As the sea-waves when wild winds speed them 

Beyond all stretch that sight can give ? 
The boundless, fathomless, blue sea ! 
Who can feel this, and not love liberty ? 

1 1. 

So thought Felicita, when first 
She left her sadly- dearest France ; 



F E L I C I T A , 25 

When on her franchised vision burst 
The deep, so vast and grand, 
Beyond Avhose limitless expanse 
She saw the promised land : 
All calm its surface then, and free, 

It was the mirror of her feeling — 
What she had pined so long to be, 
Seemed in the spirit of that sea. 
And in its face revealing. 



III. 

She looked into her father's eye, 
Almost expecting sympathy ; 
She did not think that any soul 
Could keep from bounding to the roll 

Of those glad waves exultingly ; 
Nor could a sordid aim exist 
There, as she thought, in freedom's midst ; 

9 



26 F E L I C I T A , 

She looked, then, into that dark face^ 
Hoping to see some daylight trace — 
Some free response to Nature's voice^ 
That made her own true heart rejoice : 
She looked — but, as the tiger's eye, 

Which into night can fire-balls lance^ 
Turns every Avay unrestingly, 
To 'scape clear Morning's sunny glance ; 
So that unresting eye paternal 
Shifted to hide its aims infernal 
From the questioning look, so mild. 
Of that unsuspecting child : 
Something in those gray eyes, squintings 

Minded her of treachery's story ; 
Something chilled her there — a hinting. 

As of fate premonitory. 

IV. 

She had not asked why they were there, 
Nor whither he designed to go ; 



F E L I C I T A . 27 

It was enough for lier to share 

The freedom she had longed to know. 
When to the convent's walls he came, 
And from Ms voice she heard her name, 
A sudden cold presentiment 

Had her warm blood a moment frozen ; 
But when, thro' words of blandishment, 

She learned that he had kindly chosen 
To take her with him where he went, 

An instant touched her virgin-lips 
That furrowed brow — which dark intent 

Did even then and there eclipse — 
Tho' from the filial act she quick 

Drew back instinctively, as one 
Of an unfeigned repugnance sick, 

And scarce believing what she'd done. 

V. 

At sea now, when his wily look 
Did vaguely to her hopes reply, 



28 F E L I C I T A . 

Her frame again with terror shook — 

Alas ! she knew not why. 
She saw too plain that such as he 
Could with the heaven-lit, tranquil sea, 
Have nothing of her sympathy ; 
Nor could she henceforth feel its calm, 
ISTor drink its free air, that as balm 
Into her faint heart had stolen. 
Which to aching now was swollen 
With a terror undefined, 
While fresh tears her eyes did blind. 
Then the Bible's old sea-tale 
Eose, and made her cheek grow pale 

At the sight of waves late cherished, 
Lest in vengeance they should rise ; 

For, if Jonah well-nigh perished 
Fleeing from the angry skies. 

Their defier^ how much rather, 
Should be swallowed when he flies — 

Here the Jonah was her father ! 



F E L I C 1 T A . 29 



VI. 



Thus, shadows of a coming storm 

Already on her spirit lay ; 
And sooh in distance rose the form 

Of such a cloud as " old tars" say 

"Makes sailors swear, and cowards pray I" 
At first, not more than a hand's breadth 

It seemed in size down the horizon ; 
But, rising, s]3read, now black as death — 

As some foul bird of night extends, 
Pond'rous and wide the wings he flies on, 

Dense, damp, and dismal as a fiend's ! 



VII. 

Kow wind and thunder from afar 
Preluded Heaven's full orchestra ; 



30 V E L I C I T A . 

And no^\', hoarse shouts and big oaths dure 
With that terrific bass-kept time ; 
And now, all joined with awful chime 
To swell the deafening overture ! 

The parted waves with yawning gaps 
Eose, their Avhite crests like ghosts in caps ; 
The strong ship groaned, creaked, and grew 

porous, 
While fire, hail, rain, struck in their chorus. 
And now, an interluding strain — 
A symphony there was again, 
And those affrighted, who were praying, 
Thought it to them a soft voice saying, 
"■ The wrath of God will soon pass by — 
Be not afraid, for here am I !" 
But now again the chorus thundered — 
The fearing shook ; the trusting wondered : 
The guilty paled — ^for courage strove — 
Bit his lip purple, as to prove 
That sea nor sky his fear could move : — 



F E L I C I T A. 31 

How vain to coax tlie craven nature 
Of a corrupt and cringing creature 1 



VIII. 

The trafficker approached his daughte?' 

AYitli a feigned tenderness for her : 
But, chasing him, th' avenging water 

Made him his cowardice aver : 
Before her firm, unshrinking knee 
He fell involuntarily — ^ 

As if her innocence could bring 
To shelter him its angel-wing — 
And there, by that unflinching maid, 
For the first time he — yes, lie prayed ! 
She heard him — heard him tlien unmoved — 

His dastardly design denounce. 
And vow if Heaven him spared and proved, 

That purpose to renounce : 



1 



32 F E L I C I T A .. 

Twas not tlie oatli tliat Jeplitliali took^ 
Whicli sacrificed liis only daugiiter — 
The first on whom liis eyes did look 

On coming back from Amnion's slaughter- 
No : ^twas a vow he thought more brave — 
If he escaped a watery grave, 
His only cherished child to save : 
To save from what^ she dared not ask ; 
Tho', while he felt almost a saint — 
— Heaven's ear and patience thus to task 
AYith such remorse as fear did paint. 
Till 'twas of penitence a feint — 
She, who well knew 'twould only last 
Until the storm was overpast, 
Began to question in her mind 
What was for her this threatened fate^ 
So dreadful, that it could create 
A show of penitence in one 
Who seemed to deeds already done, 
In view of this new horror, blind. 



F E L I C I T A . 88 



IX. 



For her, the storm had not a terror : 
Those who believe that suffering hearts 

Fear outward evils, are in error ; 
For moral anguish force imparts 

To bear great burdens, and not feel them ; 

To share great jDains, and yet conceal them ; 

To face great dangers, and not fear them ; 

To see unmoved death's quicksands near them ; 

To meet the monster, and not quiver ; 

For, while he takes, he is a giver, 

And bindeth only to deliver. 

Felicita, by sorrow taught, 

Of Heaven, as of her home, had thought ; 

Death was its iron gate, once entered. 

She would be where her hopes were centered : 

For, since she learned that she who bore her 

Had entered by that gate before her, 
2^ 



84 F E L I C I 'i^ A . 

It was to her the door of hope ; 
And she wished daily it would ope, 

And let her pass from foul alarms — 
From the dread enemy, her sire, 

Into a sainted mother's arms ; 
This her belief and her desire : 

And so, on sea, 'mid tempests launched, 

— Tho' she before had never seen 
Nature put on her awful mien — 

She only felt herself advanced 
Nearer the dark and frowning gate, 

This side of which she hoped no longer 
In expectation vain to wait ; 

And thus, her courage grew the stronger. 



X . 



When from his knees her father rose. 

His compact with the heavens seemed sealed ; 



F E L I C I T A . ^6 

Or that he thought so, we suppose. 

Since such a feelins: he revealed : 
The storm just then by chance abating. 

He, rogue-like, egotistical, 
His vain lip-service overrating, 

Audacious grcAV, and mystical : 
But, in proportion as the wind 

Subsided, and his terror calmed, 
Fear wakened in his daughter's mind — 

By his late prayers and vows alarmed ; 
He, judging her by his base self, 

Supposed she feared the storm and wreck, 
And counting her as so much pelf, 

With freshened hope her charms to deck — 
Began to speak courageous words, 
To talk of peace which prayer affords ; 

But, when she lower bent her neck, 
Unheeding what he said or did. 

He called her timorous and weak — 



36 F E L I C I T A . 

Told her the storm was past, and bid 

Her look up, smile, and speak : — 
Ah ! had she spoke what then she felt, 
Rage had the heart rent, which no love could 
melt. 



PART III 



F E L I C^ 1 T ^L 



I. 

Morn on the fair shore Algeriue ! 

Morning, that always, everywhere, 
A living beauty is when seen 

Breaking above the hill-tops clear — 
That, after storms have passed away, 
With double splendor ushers day. 
Kising far east upon the sea. 
The sun looked forth complacently, 
And radiant smiled to view his heaven 
Clear of the clouds, which gloomily 
Hung a'er his pillow the last even : 



40 F E L I C I T A . . 

The Avaves had yet a sobbing motion, 
As if the great heart of the ocean — 

Whose thundering beat far off was counted- 
Had by some shock of late been swelled, 
And could not all at once be quelled ; 

Tho' when above th' horizon mounted 
The sun, and tipped their crests with gold, 
The scene was glorious to behold 1 
The coast of Algiers stretched out lay — 
Its sands by foam washed, and the spray 
Curling above, by sunlight kissed. 
In distance like a golden mist : 
Along the wave shot snowy sails, 

And from the shore a landscape smiled 
Of undulating slopes and vales. 

And trees beside the roads defiled ; 
Whilst there the city's open heart 
Eevealed its life-beat, and its art 
In burnished dome, and gilded spire. 
With the slant sunbeams all on fire : 



FELICITA, 41 

And there, against the morning sky, 
Bold hills their profiles did define, 
In beauty's ever-curving line ; 

And many a sea-foAvl glided by 

Graceful and noiseless, with no sign 

Of fear that any foe was nigh. 



II 



On that fair scene, which naught did mar. 
Gazed, sadly -pleased, Felicita! 
Could she herself but have forgot. 

She might have fancied there indeed 
'' The promised land ;" but her sad lot 

Was all the prospect she could heed ; 
For, well she knew on earth was not 

The Canaan where she might be freed. 
Yet, had the voyage been long and dreary, 
And she, of hoping, fearing, weary. 



42 F E L I C I T A . 

Was glad that any shore awaited 
Her, and her destiny ill-mated; 
For dark suspense she felt to be 
More dread than dreadful certainty 



III 



Her father, since the storm, had slioAvn 
No more remorse ; but, rather grown 
Moody and murky, as repenting 
Old vows, and treacheries new inventing. 
As neared the ship the coast, and rounded, 
While land-cries on the ear resounded, 
A smile malicious seemed to twinkle 
Round his snake-eyes in either wriidde. 
And glide doAvn to his mouth's dark corner- 
Where it a settled leer remained. 
Making him look the very scorner 
Of men, disdainer, as disdained ! 



F E L I C I T A . 43 

And when he first touched terra firma^ 

Turning to gaze out on the sea, 
He something, with an oath, did murmur — 

Something — one word was " childishly ;" 
The rest was lost in air and rumor. 
Felicita, his least word catching, 
As one her fate sus2:>ended watching, 
Put his broke speech and looks together, 
And questioned with her own self whether 
He meant his late vows to dispute, 
And his base purpose execute : 
But, tho' her very blood grew numb. 
She, like a panting lamb, was dumb — 
Hastening, it might be, to the slaughter 

Of all most dear in maidenhood, 
Of all her mother's shade had taught her 

Of what was virtuous and good. 



44 F E L I C I T A . 



IV. 



'Twas market-day in old Algiers : 
A broad and brazen mid-day sun 
Looked with unveiled effrontery on 

The thronged bazaars and groaning piers, 
Where cunning, fraud, and shameless fun, 

And other things, but fit for tears, 
In his full face were done : 

Ay, fit for tears of blushing shame— 
For tears wrung out of woman's wrongs, 

Of man's foul deeds, to which no name 
In all crime's catalogue belongs ! 



A motley crowd of Mussulmen — 
Moors, Arabs, Turks — that noon was seen 
Pressing on tOAvards the grand bazaar; 



FELICITA. 45 

Some, with, imperial gait and tone — 
With broidered robe, and sparkling zone, 

And jewelled scimitar ; 
Some, vnth tlie stern and sullen air 

Of such, as thro' the silent ^^must'^ — = 
Do sway their slaves, if black, or fair — 

If slaves to drudgery, or to lust. 



VI. 



But why thronged they that grand bazaar— 

What there was the contested prize ? 
What — -but the maid Felicita ! 
Who stood in that round, mocking sun — = 
In face of that lascivious gaze. 
With shrinking form and downcast eyes ; 
Kor could she its bold, searching blaze — 
Even she—the Heaven-eyed creature — shun I 



46 F E L 1 C I T A . 

Yes : there she stood ! her modesty, 
Which now served only to amaze, 

Crushed down, and crushing all that she 
Had cherished, as the pride Avhich stays 

The soul in its integrity : 
There, lovelier for that shrinking grace, 

She stood, exposed her virgin-charms ; 
In that unnatural father's face, 

A prize for the chief bidder's arms ! 
And she, an eighteen-summer maid — 

So newly from youth's bud unfolded ; 

Fresh with life's morning dew, and moulded 
As gracefully as nymph or naiad ! 



VII. 

Oh ! where wert tJiou^ maternal shade ? 

Why, of a crime so horrible, 
Wert thou not her avenger made ? 



F E L I C I T A . 

Why didst tlion not make visible 

Thy angel-face in radiance armed 
With all the majest}^, the might, 
Of virtue's truth, and woman's right, 

Which could have wrong to silence channed ? 
Or, with the force of incensed love, 
Which, like the bolts of angry Jove, 

Would have Barbarity disarmed I 



VIII. 

When those brute-men such beauty saw 
As eyes profane might fear to see, 

A silence fell there, as of awe 
Before an ancient deity : 

Then a faint murmur rose and swelled, 
And then into a circle rounded ; 
And now, with breaths of hundreds filled, 
Outburst and thro' the air resounded ! 



48 F E L I C I T A . 

^Twas the spontaneous applause 

Of sensual minds to Beauty's mould : 
How could tliey know it did infold 

A fairer soul ? Mahomet's laws 
Of woman's spirit never told. 

There was a momentary pause ; — 
And then the turban'd auctioneer 
Sent forth his cry, as cold, as clear ; 
But, ere commenced the strife of bids, 
Sudden the victim raised her lids ; 
And from those eyes, late moist with shame, 
— But now burnt dry by scorn — a flame 

Of incensed pride flashed on that throng — 
Wrath triumphing o'er modesty — 

Shame yielding to the sense of wrong. 
In woman terrible to see ! 

Had they been aught save Mussulmen, 

They would have fallen back — as when 

Christ's look of scorn — his " I AM He !" 



F E L I C I T A . 49 



Fell, blasting the effrontery 
Of those whose sacrilegious eyes 
Sought in divinity a prize ! 



I X 



But, she was woman — not a God — 

Her triumph but a lightning-flash ; 
And quick again she crouching stood, 

Like a poor slave beneath the lash ; 
Or, drooping — as the weeping willow 
That bent o'er her dead mother's pillow — 

Over the grave of woman's pride ; 

Longing to lie herself beside 
That suffering once, now resting mother — 

Oh, could they but as one have died, 
And be calm sleeping there together ! 



50 FELICITA 



Hark 1 what was that ? the final cry — 
Nine thousand piastres cast the die ! 

The deed of infamy is done — 
In blood of angels' hearts is signed ; 
She sees — she hears, and then grows blind- 
Turned by Doom's visage into stone ! 
The princely Arab, Ackmet-bey, 
Bids his slaves bear the prize away. 



PART IV 



P' E L I C I T ^L 



Evening's deep blue, bespangled dome 

Bent over Algiers, as serene, 
As if for vice there were no home 

In all that shadowed scene : 
The moon too, rose — the virgin moon — 

That once for an intrusive look 
On her divinest charms, so soon 

The vengeance of a goddess took ! 
She rose, and smiled as calmly down 

On silvered mosque and minaret, 
As if she ne'er a wrong had known, 

Or all her vengeance did forget ; 



64 F E L 1 C I T A , 

Or, as if in her modest sight 

No other virgins were outraged- 
As if there, on that very night, 
No maiden, for her saintly right, 
Had war with tyrants waged. 



ti 



TherCj in his grotesque Arab home. 

Cushioned luxuriously, lay 

Smoking and sipping, Ackmet-bey 1 
A nod made quickly go and come 

The dark-eyed slaves, which all the day 
Beside his divan waited ; — some. 

On mystic instruments to play — 
Now, lulling to voluptuous dreams, 
And now, awaking him with gleams 
Of jewelled arms, and tinkling feet, 
That kept the music's quick-time beat ; 



F E L I C I T A . OO 



While starry eyes, thro' blackest night, 
Flashed on their proud lord love and light. 



III. 

Among those slaves there was a youth 

Who had from France a child been brought- 
Stolen, to sell in G-reece, forsooth, 

For there by Ackmet was he bought : 
The price paid for him he well earned, 
As from his lips his master learned 
To speak his cherished mother-tongue, 
When he so gentle was, and young, 
As all affections to invite, 
And thus become the favorite : 
A handsome youth he was, and ruly ; 

But, tho' by Ackmet loved, or petted — 
For love not such as he know truly — 

Fondness from him but onlv fretted 



56 r E L T G I T A , 

The yearning heart of Jules, oft swelling 

With home's sweet memories indwelling ; 

Tho' — French-like — a good actor, he 

Could sparkle with vivacity^ 

And put his lord — the cunning elf! — 

In humor always with himself. 

Just turned of twenty, now a man, 

The thought of freedom often ran 

Like a glad rill along his brain, 

While grcAv more irksome slavery's chain. 



I V. 

That night beside his lord he stood 
Without his wonted mask of glee — 

Desponding both in mien and mood, 
He leaned his light weight gracefully 

On his white hand, and seemed to brood 
Over some dear thought pensively : 



F E L I C I T A . 57 

The dancing-girls around him flitting, 
Bj chance, or mischief, often liitting 
His garment's border, made him start, 
And from his revery apart, 
Look up and watch the wary measure. 
While thinking of all things, save pleasure. 



V. 



"Jules!" — 'twas his master's voice that spake, 

Making his stray thoughts sudden quake ; 

While something of a guilty feeling 

Seemed in his startled air revealing 

" Jules, bid this ill-timed music cease — 

To-night I want but thee — and peace !" 

No sooner was it said, than done — 

As quick as bright thoughts pass, were gone 

Those flashing eyes ; — Jules stayed alone : 

The costliest chihoque now he brings. 

And coffee in such tiny things 
3* 



58 F E L I C I T A . 

As seem carved out for fairy's lip, 

Or, shell-cups from which naiads sip ; 

Sherbet, in crystal as exquisite, 
Beside the divan now he places, 
And, where the drapery interlaces. 

Waits by his lord he waits a visit ! 



VI 



Now, was a rustling in the air — 

A gorgeous curtain parting there, 

Eevealed a scene whose light and shade 

A fair girl and a dark slave made ; 

The Moor drew back — the brightness neared, 

And there Felicita appeared ! 

There — in a beauty that did awe them 

With its true majesty divine ; 
In the rich costume of the harem — 

Tho' not so clear those pearls did shine. 
As the white neck and arms that bare them : 



FELICITA. 59 

Her soul-lit eyes, no more bent downward, 
Their veiling fringes were upturned, 

Letting a stream of prayer rise sunward 
From the live thought which inward burned. 

VII. 

She came, advancing towards the Arab, 

With the God-aided step and mien 
Of Moses — when the rock of Horeb, 

To others dry, by him was seen 
With its deep fount of living waters, 

Which made the wilderness soon green, 
Eefreshing Israel's sons and daughters : 

The God of Moses was her leader — 

Truth her deep well, and Eight her pleader; 
Nor feared she to advance — a rock 

She in that moral desert saw, 
Which might be cleft by feeling's shock — 

By the rod-touch of human law, 



60 F E L I C I T A . 



And send forth pity's crystal river, 
New life and liberty to give her. 



VIII. 

Firm stepped she forward : and then, kneeling 

Before her owner — not her master ; 
Nor yet his visible presence feeling — 

— 'Tho', thinking so, his heart beat faster — 
Bat the Invisible, concealing 
From his, while to her mind revealing ; 

She folded on her spotless bosom 
Her two white hands — which there did seem 

Like a white lily's folded blossom 
On the clear bosom of a stream : 
Of words, at first, she said no other — 
Tho' her lips paled and moved — save "mother!" 
But soon, as if that word refreshed her, 
She to the Arab calm addressed her. 



FELICITA. 61 



IX 



"Behold an orphan!" said she, "Alia 
Calls on his Ackmet for the valor 

Whose armor is the orphan's prayer — 
Whose triumph is the orphan's blessing ; 

Which makes Defencelessness its care — 
The recompense, at last possessing, 

Mahomet's heaven to share," 
An eye here at the Arab glancing, 
She changed her language, thus advancing: 

"We, of the Christian faith, have angels 
Which ever our avengers are ; 

We read in the beloved Evangels 
That they are round us everywhere ; 

They speak to us unuttered words — 
They know to show us unseen things. 

And some are armed with flaming swords 
That gleam out from their shining wings : 



62 FELICITA. 

They say, for us, to all, ' Beware ! 
Touch not these little ones ; nor dare. 
With woman, to be less than brave ; 
But use the force which Alia gave, 
Her virtue to protect and save.' " 



Alas, the maiden vain words said ! 

The depth of her true heart of woman 
Her measure she for others made ; 

She little knew the great heart human — 
Shallow, as wide ; save here and there 
A deep spot, as a fountain, where 
Wells up true feeling, holy love. 
Fed from its purest source above : 

Her breast was one of these deep places. 
But she its feeling here had wasted ; 

For, in the Arab's eye no traces 



F E L I C I T A . 6S 

Of sentiment or truth replied, 
Or any thing that showed he tasted 

The menaces to him ajoplied : 
He was not that responding rock 

She hoped with truth's divining-rod 

To touch, as did the man of God 

The desert-stone ^he felt no shock, 

And woman's eloquence did mock : 

But, she had probed another heart. 
Which hid beneath its rocky cover 

A fount, that only woman's art — 
Her touch of feeling could discover. 



XI. 

"Else!" said the Arab — "wherefore kneeling 

To me, as if I were a god ; 
Or fiend, devoid of human feeling. 

Because these slaves obey my nod ? 



64 F E L I C I 'J' A . 

Know, that I'm neither god, nor demon — 
This heart Arabian, is human ! 

Tho' thou hast charms which gods might steal, 
Think not that I'm a Grecian Jove ; 

For beauty, if no less I feel, 
I would not claim it without love : 
So, calm thee ! and in me behold 
The lover, not the tyrant cold ; 
One, who from thee but love demands — 
Love^ which makes freedom slavery's bands ! 
Thou of my harem shalt become 
The light and life — 'tis hence thy home ; 
And woe to any one who dares 
To frown on her whose beauty shares — 
Whose wishes, whose caprices, sway 
The heart and wealth of Ackmet-bey ! " 



FELICITA, 66 



XII, 



The maid at his behest had risen, 
And stood up to her queenly height: — 
Baring her swelling bosom's white, 

Which those clasped hands did late imprison, 
Unto the lancing speech he made. 
More fearful than his sabre's blade ; 
And when he finished, still she stood, 
As if its steel-point froze her blood, 
Instead of bringing out the show 
Of hot emotions' sanguine flow. 



XIII. 

" Why stand'st thou there ? come hither, maid !" 
— The half-confounded Ackmet said — 
" Tell me what I shall do for thee, 
And tho' its price my best steed be, 



66 F E L I C I T A . 

I'll sacrifice to thy desire 

His pure Arabian blood of fire : 

If tlioii canst smile, let me once see 

That smile, as sunlight, fall on me : 

Compose thee ! here's thine own divan, 

Its silk, of Persian texture, scan ; 

Sweetmeats and coffee's fragrant grain 

Await, in antique porcelain, 

The kisses of thy sweeter lips — 

Thy glance, which stars do not eclipse ! 

And here's my French page, now thine own, 

"Who'll sing to thee, and at thy choice 
Thy favorite native airs alone ; 

While damsels aid his silvery voice ; 
Or lightly touch, his notes between, 
The magic, mellow, mandoline." 



F E L I C 1 T A . 67 

XIV. 

Jules, whose suspended heart, not ear, 

Hung on his master's every word ; 
Writhed, when his own name he did hear, 
And meet her glance — to him a fear ! — 

As if at once a two-edged sword 
Had doubly pierced his throbbing breast. 
Where his hot hand he firmer prest — 
Seeming the life-blood there to stay, 
Which would his manhood bear away. 



XV. 

Eyes are of eyes interpreters ! 

Thro' that unmeaning glance of hers, 

Had clearly read Felicita 

Signs, which as words to woman are- 
To others mystic characters. 



bb F E L I C I T A , 

From Jules her eye turned, mutely pleadingj 
To Ackmet tears therein did glisten, 

Which, for her faint words interceding, 
Seemed to say, " 'Tis my last hope — Glisten !" 

XVI. 

And thus she spake, in accents meek : 
"Ackmet is strong, the maiden weak; 

Ackmet is master, she his slave ; 
He bids her ask of him a gift — 

He who is generous, is brave ; 
So, she will dare her eyes uplift. 
And ask that he — as good, as great — 

Will from dishonor's foul stain save 
A friendless maid, whose sole estate 

The virtue is her mother gave. 
Be Ackmet to an orphan girl 

More than the father, who hath sold 
Her life, and with it virtue's pearl. 

So basely for a little gold ! 



FE L I CITA, 

Be she, to Ackmet as a daughter ; 

Or, if not such, a virtuous slave, 
Who will forget that gold hath bought her 

Serving him faithful to the grave : 
Or, if this may not, cannot be, 
Give her, what most she longs to see, 
The precious boon of liberty." 



XVII. 

A flash of hot barbarian ire 
Shot from the Arab's eye of fire ! 
He rose from that too soft divan 
To serve an incensed African — 
Who now was man — offended man ! 
Yet, of a manhood only brutal ; 

For, in his dark brow's savage wrath, 
No eye could trace the lustrous path 
Of that which is in man immortal. 



70 F E L I C I T A , 

XVIII. 

"Go! — to the far cell of tlie harem, 

Whose doors have bolts of steel to bar them, 

There, to repent at leisure, stay ! 
Learii that thou art an AraVs slave, 
And what it is the love to have — 

The love to scorn, of Ackmet-bey ! 

And thou, old Moor, guard well the place — ■ 
Let not an eye see that proud face ; 

For, mark me — by the scimitar 

Which my brave sire did erst swear by — 

Whoever sees Felicita, 

That recreant, with thee, shall die !'' 

X IX. 

This wrath-stroke would have felled another — 

It only roused Felicita ! 
Her burning words she needs must smother ; 

But, each eye was a steadfast star — - 



F E L I C I T A . 71 

With cold, fixed light, removed as far 

From Ackmet's reach, as planets are ! 

Light borrowed from her radiant soul — 

Purer than is the sun's, for ne'er 

A spot had marred its lustrous whole : 

«■ 
That moment she felt no more fear 

Of the wild Arab's eye of fire, 

Than if it were a lower sphere, 
And she were moving calmly higher ; 

Near stood he, almost by her side — = 
A blazing comet in his flame — 
But, to her heart a feeling came 

That boundless space did them divide. 



F A \i T V . 



F E L I C IT X . 



I. 



How knows the prisoner when confined 

By bolts and bars that shut out day — 
When to the morning sun as bhnd, 

As to the evening's milder ray ; 
AYhen every sound, as well as sight, 

Is deadened by his prison wall ; 
How knows he when profoundest night 

Over earth lets her mantle fall ? 
How — save by that mysterious sense — 

That subtile, spiritual touch, 
Which feels the unseen covering dense 

Beneath Vvdiich doth instinctive crouch 
The soul, and hide its life intense. 



76 FELICITA. 

So, when an unseen night of sorrow 
Descending is upon the soul, 

It shrinks with an uncertain horror- 
Feels the black curtain slow unroll. 
And hears a melancholy toll 

Foretelling the dread nioiTow. 



II 



Three times Felicita had told 

To her own thought the midnight hour, 
Which o'er her dark cell, damp and cold, 

With heavier weight than day did lower 
'Twas the fourth night that she had spent 
In that disgraceful banishment — 
In that profound incarceration, 
Deprived of light, heat, ventilation. 

There, on the black, impervious wall. 
Before her passed, in grim rotation, 

Each scene of her brief life, and all 



FELICITA. 77 

That might in future her befall ; 
As from a magic lantern cast, 
Ghastly, with funeral pace they passed : 
Her cradle and her mother's pall 

Together went, and by them glided — 
Grinning and grimacing — a Satyr : 

The cradle then, from pall divided, 
She sleeping in it, and still at her 

That object grinned, and there presided ; 
Tho' a mild angel bent above her, 
Who seemed to have the right to love her ; 
Bnt not the power she asked, to clasp 
Her darling from that Satyr's grasp. 

III. 

Then came a child among the flowers — 
Moistening them w^ith life's earliest tear ; 

Whilst ever these two different powers 
Of good and evil hovered near : 



5 FE LI CIT A. 

Then rose a cloister, at whose gate 
The Satyr, tho' outside, did wait ; 

Whilst inside of those huge doors massive 
Appeared, near by a window-grate, 

A young girl sitting sadly passive : 
The angel there was keeping watch, 

And now seemed nearer and more quiet, 
Since fastened was the convent-latch 

Against her mocking evil spirit. 
Pictures conflicting followed after — 

False hopes, and falser protestations ; 
Tempestuous skies, tumultuous Avater, 

Dark fears, and darker intimations — 
Barbarians, and a cruel barter : 

And then, she saw her struggles late — 

Her present doom all desolate ; 
And then, passed other scenes mysterious — 

But half discerned, as thro' a veil ; 
The Satyr's look grew more imperious — 

The angel's cheek more thin and pale. 



F E L I C I T A . 79 



IV. 



Love came too, Avitli his bow and arrow ; 

But never H3^nien and liis torch — 

— Tho' once a chnrch-yard and church-porch 
These changed into a chamber narrow ; 

And then, into a lonely vale ; 
When — -just as came a scene more bright — 
All vanished ! and another light 
Shone thro' the crevice of her door — 
She heard quick footsteps on the floor ! 

Who is it ? at this midnight hour 
It could not be the friendly Moor — 

He, servile slave, had only power 
Of guard beside the outer sill ; 
Nor, nearer came, save at the will 
Of Ackmet-bey to bring her food, 
And then outside the door he stood — 
Passing it thro' a panel slidden. 
Which instant closed again unbidden : 



80 F E L I C I T A . 

Hark ! now the rattling of a key — 
Darkness, if it had eyes, might see 
How shrinks the pale Felicita 
Into her cell's deep corner far ; 
She breathes by starts, convulsively, 
And now as slips her door's strong bar, 
Her breath suspended seems to be — 
She gasps — she shrieks, '"Tis Ackmet-bey !" 
Ko : 'tis to Jules the door gives way. 



V. 



As one, who suddenly awaking 

From dreams that terrible make night — 
From darkness all at once to light, 

Struck instant blind, confused and quaking, 
Sinks back again unconscious quite — 

Till Reason from his vision taking 
The meshes, puts his senses right, 
And suits to morn his weakened sight ; 



F E L I C I T A . 81 

So, tlie affriglited maiden's eye 

Long nsed to darkness, and her mind 

Long harassed and entangled by 

Portentous sights and dreamy meshes, 

Were dazzled, puzzled and struck blind 

By Jules' face and torch -light flashes : 

Eecoded, half sensible she lay 

Where glare and terror had spell-bound her ; 
In that far corner, crouched, he found her — 

Hasted her prostrate form to stay ; 

Dumb first with fright himself — but soon 
For him did Love thus importune : — 



VI. 

"Maiden, fear not! behold, 'tis I — 
I come to save thee, or to die ! 

Three days — three endless days of pain- 
Suspended between fear and hope — 
4* 



82 F E L I C I T A . 

I've watched the chance, the hour, the minute, 
When I this prison-door might ope — 

Might see thy face divine again. 
And heaven, that shines for me within it : 

At last I've found it — love has conquered — 

My whole soul to the hope is anchored 

To bear thee hence away with me, 

Into life, light, and liberty. 
Ackmet has eyed me ; for in vain 

Guilt (no, ah no ; not guilt, but love !) 
Seeks its charged secret to contain — 

The steel and flint unconscious move, 
The ready spark will fire the eye ; 

And if the heart does not explode 

At the first flash, its over-load 
Menaces danger to all by !" 



F E L I C I T A. 



VII. 



" To-night my loaded heart nigh burst — 

'Twas held alone by Alia great ! 
For if its Avrath had Ackmet curst, 
Not only I, but thou too, must — 

Thou innocent — ^have shared his fate : 
My time had come ; the drug I mixed 

With aromatics' sweet disguise — 
He smoked, and in contentment fixed 

His eje, and slid to paradise ; 
Then dropt his chiboque, fell asleep. 
And I the key of his dreams keep ! 
The Moor, not his, thi/ faithful slave, 
Will spill his dark blood thee to save ; 
There's not a living soul astir ; — 
The moon has put her veil on her ; — 
Darkness her mantle spreads for us ; 
The gates unbolted are, why thus — 

Ah, why Felicita demur ? 



84 FELICITA. 

Alia bids all things now conspire 
To bless the love I bear for thee ; 

Oh, % ! 'tis earth's — 'tis Heaven's desire- 
Their pledge is opportunity !" 

VIII. 

The maid stirred not : but fixed on him 
Her eyes with feeling's moisture dim — 
Like unto heaven's deep blue, when seen 
Thro' a thin mist- veil all serene : — 
His voice the spell of fear had broken, 
And the brief moments he had spoken 
Had roused that native force of truth, 
Which made her, Hebedike in youth. 
The azure-eyed Minerva seem : 
On him did full those blue orbs beam — 
So mild, so like his life-long dream. 
They melted into his young breast ; 
While something dreaded they confest : 



F E L I C I T A . 85 

'^ Jules, couldst thou look into my soul, 
(She knew not that 'twas in her eje — 
That he who saw that, saw the whole) 
" Thou wouldst see gratitude there lie 
Too deep for straightened words to measure ; 
But how can this repay the treasure 
Of that true love thou giv'st to me, 
Save love like thine its fountain be ?" 

IX. 

" It may be that I cannot love — 

That when my being emanated 
From the great Soul of all above. 
He gave me only power to prove 

That which makes woman lion-hearted, 
Without her nature of the dove : 

And yet, sometimes within I feel 
That possibility of loving, 
Which, once a woman like me proving, 



86 FELICITA. 

'Twould be slow burning to conceal — 
Would life, or death, be to reveal ! 
Sometimes when craves my inner nature, 
— For what I know not, save it be 

The aliment of sympathy — 
I think there is somewhere a creature 
On the wide earth in mental feature, 

In heart and soul allied to me ; 
And I have vague dreams of a spirit 

Kobed in the charms of my ideal, 
And sometimes think my heart could merit 

That such an one became my real : 
But something whispers that if here 
On earth to me he should come near, 
Tho' from my eyes he did conceal him, 
My heart would see him, hear him, feel him ; 
And should my soul his own allure. 

So that to me he did appear, 
And could he see my heart, I'm sure 
He would find there his portraiture. 



F E L I C I T A . 87 



X. 



" But know, brave Jules, that no assertion 
That I loved thee, could make it so ; 

Nor does the heart obey coercion — 
Love at its own sweet will must go ; 

Slaves we both are, and still may be, 

But the soul owns no slavery." 

XI. 

Her barbed words each its heart-thrust gave ; 
But Jules, tho' bleeding, only saw 
Beaut}^ in her, and felt love's laAv 
Bidding him on — if death to brave. 
Living, or dying, her to save ! 

" "Waste no more words" — ^he quick replied — 
" Fly with me — fly ! the night's far spent ; 

To know to-morrow that I tried 

To save thee, but in vain — and died, 



88 V E T. T C I T A . 

Will make iliee all as vain lament, 
But ease not thine imprisonment : 
Then rise, and fly with me — 0, move ! 
I only ask thy life — not love : 
Ah no ! I do not come to thee 
To change alone thy slavery — 
To make thee free I ask — and I 
Will on that freedom look — and die ! 
Here's Ackmet's purse ; and from its gold 
He paid thy price when thou wert sold, 
And Alla's self will smile the day 
Its gold frees thee from Ackmet-bey 1" 
He spake — and bore in his glad arms 
The weight of her unsullied charms ! 
The faithful Moor threw wide the gate. 
Perchance there at death's door to wait 
Till morning's sun should see his blood 
Darken the sill whereon he stood. 



F E L I C I'T A . 89 



XII 



Inexplicable Night ! thou broodest 

With thy wide spread, maternal wing 
Over earth's children all — ^the rudest, 

The vilest of her offscouring, 
With the same gathering, sheltering care, 

As over Beauty's true offspring — 
Who ask not patronage to share ; 

But come to thee their hearts to bring— 

Thy starry glories worshipping. 
Thy pensive shadow, which professes 

Devotion's spirit to impart, 
The aid and covering no less is 

Of treachery and the murderous heart : 
O Night ! thou, of all goddesses, 

Patron of good and evil art ! 



90 F E L I C I T A 



XIII 



Jules, with liis palpitating treasure, 

Paused not for breatli, till clear lie stood 
Where distance did pursuit outmeasure ; 

And there, in deathliest solitude — 
— Tho' in the city's very breast, 

Whose pulses seemed to have stopt beating. 
So deep the silence was of rest — 

He could not help aloud repeating, 
" Thanks ! heart-thanks to thee. Alia blest !" 

XIV. 

But, whither to direct his way, 

Poor youth ! how knew he ? Could the heart 
Be that which Wisdom's rule doth sway. 

It would not from its impulse start 
So often nobly, yet in vain ; 
But wait till sure its end to gain. 



F E L I C I T A . 91 

Felicita more calm than Jules, 



By nature, and thouglit's sober rules, 
Was first to speak : " Where shall we go, 
Brave Jules, I know not, dost thou know ?'' 
'' Cling only to my throbbing side," 
He said, " and Alia be our guide ! 
But, should the stealthy step of guilt 
Be in this darkness lurking by ; — 
Should my heart's blood be sudden spilt, 
From that death-struggle, maiden, fly — ■ 
Save thyself, and leave me to die !" 

XV. 

He seemed to speak prophetic words — 
To the maid's bosom they were swords ! 
But ere she could reply, a tread, 

Wily and cat-like, came behind ; 
More fleet, more silently they sped, 

Hoping some turning-point to find : 



92 FELICITA. 

But, all 1 those to misfortune mated, 
To work their own harm oft seem fated ; 

Like Orpheus, who, against his will. 
The fatal look gave, which him cost 
Eurydice — ^his doubly lost ! 
Felicita^ to silence sworn, 
Spoke — and death from her words was born ! 

That gentle voice the blood did spill 
Of him to whom she owed the most ; 
It was her father's ruf&an knife 
Which reddened in that deadly strife — 
Her father's hand which hers did grasp ; 
'Twas death that in his arms did clasp 
The youth who gave for her his life ! 

Unhappy maiden ! not a pause 
To wipe his wet and still warm brow — 

To weep o'er what her voice did cause : 
*'0n /" said th' assassin — " onward now !" 
'Twas vain — ^the maiden could no more — 
Fainting she fell in that fresh gore ; 



FELICITA. 93 

Hands blood-stained bore her quick away — 
AVho feared not God, feared Ackmet-bey ! 



X ^' I . 

Fleeing the Arab's dreaded wrath, 

With his piastres and his daughter, 
The murderer took the quickest path 

To France again across the water. 
There reyolution's strife he found — 

The fair metropolis, in arms, 
Turned to a bloody battle-ground. 

And robbed for him of all gain's charms. 
The wicked flee when none pursues ! 

The dastard, gathering up his all. 

Left the conflicting capital : 
No dauntless arm had he to use 

In her defence ; — he nothing saw 

Of majesty in right — his law 



94 F E L I C I T A . 

Of liberty but license was. 

In sordid bosoms patriot lire 
No spark of its pure ardor lias ; 

The trafficker's unique desire 
Was gain— liis countrj^, saved or lost, 
Not one of liis piastres cost : 

His country ! lie no country had— 
Vice is a cosmopolitan ! 

France was to him a home but sad 
When to decrease his trade began — 
A vagabond thro' earth he ran. 

And gold made any clime look glad. 



V A R T V I , 



FELICITY. 



I. 



If Love inspire the poet's rhyme, 

Where finds the Muse more fitting story 
Than in Italia's ardent clime, 

Which owes to love, as art, its glory ? 
Where the rapt Dante, filled with awe 

Of love as of a thing divine, 
In beatific vision saw 

His soul's ideal on him shine, 
In beauty sublimated thrice, 
Tho' still in form his Beatrice ! 



FE L ICIT A 



II 



Whence love-eyed Petraech in liis Laura 

Saw all the angel gifts and graces 
That woman here did ever borrow 

From spirits of celestial places ; 
And where he sang those living beauties 

In sonnets turned to Paradise — 
Which linger, broken tho' his lute is, 

As echoes of Heaven's melodies. 



III. 

Where Tasso, imto love too loyal 
To serve his Duke and be its traitor, 

Avowed, 'twas for a lady royal, 

Love than her princely rank far greater 
Ah, fatal flame ! for him creator 
Of every evil : tho', to mate her. 



FELICITA 



He had; what she ne'er understood, 
What have all poets — royal blood. 



IV. 

And love-enkindled Aeiosto 

In Italy made romance song ; 
And here have burned, with passion's glow 

How many of the shining throng ! 
The great heart of old Angelo 

Grew luminous with love's live spark — 

That, lighting up his forehead dark, 
Kindled cold marble with its flame : 
Here love inspired Boccaccio, 
And gave his romances to fame ; 
Here stirred dramatic Alfieki — 
Love long unblessed, but never weary, 
Since unsuppressed, its fire could free 
Outburst in burning tragedy. 



100 FELICITA. 

Yes : Italy and Love as one 

Else in the tlionglit of poets now ; — 
The myrtle on Italia's brow 

Shows not its evergreen alone ; 
For there, beside it, living glows 
Fresh as of yore, love's warm red rose. 



To Italy the traf&cker 

Turned now his avaricious eyes : 
Meaning from thence to sail with her, 

Whose beauty there would bring a prize. 
Into the Orient: she beside 
The dark-browed man did seem to glide 
As might beside the wolf a lamb. 
When that wolf has devoured her dam, 
And, waiting for new appetite. 
Devours her with carnivorous sight. 



FELICITA. 101 

But, the avenger's long stayed wratli 
Followed this tmie the monster's path ; 
His hour had come ! disease assailed him — 
The 230wer of evil sudden failed him ; 
He was that dreadful thing to see — 

A man of Heaven and earth bereft, 

To his own Hellish nature left 
Alone, the dupe of crime to be, 
Evil now turned his enemy ! 



VI. 

True, by his couch stood ever near 
An angel, but her blue eyes clear. 
To him heaven's mocking mirror seemed- 
Wherein his fiendish nature gleamed 
With glare that made him himself fear ! 
Oft, when with gentle hand she took 
Some beverage to him, from her look 



102 FELICITA. 

He started back : as miglit some creature 
Foul, and of monstrous form and feature, 
"Who nearing to a lakelet's brink — 
On leaning over thence to drink, 
His frightful visage therein sees, 
And from his own vile imas^e flees. 



VII. 

Italia to the maid had been 

A fair dream in the distance seen ; 

But now, became, in all its beauty, 

A dread — the place of sacrifice — 
Where love must yield to loathsome duty, 

And taste dry up 'mid art's supplies. 
Dark days and lurid nights on ran, 

And with his torturing self still struggled. 
And writhed in pain the coward man ! 
Sometimes from Hope's rich realm he smuggled 



F E L I C I T A . 103 

A comfort-grain ; but soon detected 
Bj Conscience — vigilant police — 

He lost tlie seed wliicli lie expected 
Would in liis native soil increase : 
Could lie have planted there that grain, 
His labor had been all in vain — 
Hope was exotic to the soil, 
And never would have blessed his toil. 

y III. 

At length his gold began to waste — 
This, in advance, was Hell to taste ! 
His grasping nature, always crabbed. 
As demoniacal, grew rabid : 
He foamed and bit his fevered lip — 
Eefused the cordial cup to sip ; 
Shrieked that of gold he was bereft — 

Clinched his remaining coins — fate cursed — 

And suffocating, died of thirst ! 
Felicita alone was left. 



104 FELICITA. 



IX . 



Alone on earth — in youth and beauty-^ 

A stranger in a stranger land ! 

Her foe — now conquered by Death's hand- 
Claiming from her the last sad duty. 
She buried — "buried out of sight" — 
Him, who to curse her, gave her light ; 
And then her nature from long tension — 

— Three lingering months had thus elapsed- 
Tho' wide its powers were of expansion, 

Sunk down exhausted and collapsed. 



X. 



Evil, that could not taint her soul. 

Seemed for her torment doubly eager — 

As if her dead sire's presence foul 

Haunted her, with grim visage meagre :- 



FELICITA. 105 

It chanced that as she lay at noon 
After the burial, in that swoon, 

A woman — who no woman's heart 
Did in her larcenous bosom carry — 
Came in, as pity her did hurry 

To act the neighbor's kindly part : 
But what spy there her greedy eyes — 
The maiden, who unconscious lies ? 
No : gold, piled up where Death's hand laid it — 
Avarice to avarice betrayed it ! 



XI 



There Avas no moment to be lost — 

Theft from the dead might life have cost : 

With sacrilegious hand she grasped 

Those coins from Death's clutch just unclasped 

And now, to cover up the deed. 

Feigning herself the friend of need, 
5* 



106 FELICITA. 

She called, in Pity's voice, for aid. 

And bade tliem bear the swooning maid 

Into a nunnery near by, 

Where care and medicine's supply 

Awaited always such as she, 

From sisters chaste of charity. 



XII. 

Where opes Felicita those eyes 

Which never yet have seen joy's day ? 
Who bends o'er her, whose calm touch tries 

Life's pulse, which ebbing seemed away ? 
Has she not seen before that brow ? 

It seems — it is the bright resemblance 
Of her ideal, faintly now 

Kising up in her dim remembrance ! 
That liquid eye which beams on her, 
Seems of her life interpreter ; 



FELICITA. 107 

She speaks not, but it speaks a tongue 
Whose music in her ears hath rung 
Clear amid all the sounds of strife 
"Which have surrounded her thro' life : 
She struggles — ^from those spirit-throes 
Joy new born springs ! and all her woes 
Seem lessening, shrinking to the past — 
Oh ! is she to be blest at last ? 
Her brain whirls ! now a stinging steel 
Her white and rounded arm doth feel ; — 
A sanguine flow ; — her dazzled eye 
Sees clearer — her lips part — a cry ! 
" What means all this ? — Oh ! where am I ?" 

XIII. 

Among the checkered race called human 
There are — ^like planets among stars — 

Bare specimens of man and woman. 
Whom the primeval curse scarce mars : 



108 FELICITA. 

'T would seem as if tlie great Creator, 
Who man in his own likeness made, 
Would yet that image see portrayed 

In some, than their own species greater ; 
Greater, not in the common sense 

Of noble birth, and wealth transmitted ; 
But, by divine inheritance, 

For that imperial court befitted 

Where intellect and heart preside — 
Where man seems almost deified. 

There are alas 1 among the living 
Men who are only moving clods ; 

There are too, for ambition striving, 
Those who in mind are demigods, 

Yet, who in heart are demidevils ; 

And not among earth's lesser evils 

Are such, whose demon-hearts control 

All that is godlike in the soul. 



FELICITA. 109 



XIV. 



GiACiNTO was that noble being 

In heart and mind symmetrical ! 
No less deep-feeling, than far-seeing, 

He had that spark electrical 
Which carries into other hearts 
FeeHngs which God direct imparts 
Unto the few, his own elect. 
Who in their lives his heaven reflect : 
And he had too, that union rarer 
Of beauty physical and moral — 
That, joined with gifts and graces oral, 
Gives, whomsoever is its sharer, 
A power o'er others to be dreaded 
K it were not with honor wedded. 
A look on his truth-beaming face. 
In all true hearts, to love gave place ; 
And if Giacinto e'er was hated, 



110 FELICITA. 

'Twas by some soul of low degree — 
Intrinsically to evil mated ; 
For, to liave been his enemy, 
Were foe to good itself to be ! 

XV. 

Born not to wealth, or noble title, 

In bis veins blood the noblest ran ; 
He was that, by wbicb. lords grow little — 

Queen Nature's inborn nobleman ! 
And be bad studied — deeply studied ; 

But never to be vainly great ; 
Unlike those fertile minds o'erflooded 

With knowledge that doth weeds create- 

Which grow of verdure desolate — 
His mind a garden was, well weeded, 

And planted with the choicest flowers ; 
Whate'er he gained anew there seeded, 

And grew mature thro' toilsome hours. 



FELICITA. Ill 



XVI 



His wit was satire wliich, the keenest, 

Knows when its lance in rest should be 
Tho' he despised not man the meanest, 

As not the greatest envied he : 
Self-taught he was, by self must live ; 

So, he had chosen that profession 
"Which to his fellow-man would give 

Both of his mind and heart possession : 
From manhood's opening he had striven 

To live for others, not himself, 
To give of what to him was given ; 

While for its own sake scorning pelf : 
And his professional career 

He loved, its labors and vexations. 
It brought the human heart more near, 

And in these intimate relations 



112 FELICITA. 

He knew, as if b j intuition^ 
The suffering spirit to control, 

And thus was he that true physician- 
Both for the body and the soul. 



XVII. 

As charity to him was natural. 

Some duties to himself he made, 
And often visits, thus collateral, 

Unto the sisters' convent paid : 
There to Misfortune's sheltered offspring, 

Aided by woman's gentle care, 
He gave his services — an offering 

Where suffering called him every where. 
Thus, at the age of twenty-five — 

Tho' fewer years his smooth brow told, 
— ^For feelings true keep youth alive — 

Giacinto was in good deeds old : 



FELICITA. 113 

And he it was, wlio softly bending 

Over the coucli of Innocence 
An angel seemed, from Heaven descending, 

Unto Felicita — and hence 

Her strange awaking from that trance. 

XVIII. 

Weeks sped, and still the maiden lay 
The victim of slow, wasting fever ; 

And still unwearied, day by day, 
A ruling spirit guided ever 
Those sisters of meek charity 

Who near her couch did watching stay. 
Oh, woman ! woman true^ in thee 
Our eyes Heaven's blessed angels see ! 

If thou didst cause all human woes. 
In thee man finds woe's antidote — 
All that can human bliss promote ; 

If death he to thy frailty owes, 



114 FELICITA. 

Unto tliine agonizing strife 
He owes this, and eternal life ; 
For life, in thy first error slain, 
Thy Seed hath purchased him again — 

Thro' thee Heaven's curse is countermanded 

And as thy body once expanded 
With the Divinity it held ; 
So, when with love thy heart is swelled. 
We know that overshadowed still 

Thou by th' immaculate Spirit art — 
That holy seed thy breast doth fill. 

And germinate in thy warm heart ; 
Each fragrant charity of thine 
Is living fruit of Love divine I 



XIX. 

Weeks passed : yet only days they seemed 
Unto Felicita, who dreamed 



FELICITA. 115 

For tlie first time the dream of love ! 
Love — to wliose wand enclianted move 
The hours, as if on shining wings 
They flew to angel whisperings ! 

She suffered not : her S23irit basked 
In the first sunshine it had known ; 

For her lost gold she never asked — 
A queen she felt upon a throne, 
And seemed a world-wide wealth to own. 

In this ecstatic state, to those 
Who would her fevered mind allay 

With the cool balsam of repose, 
She seemed as one not long to stay — 

As one who saw by second sight 

Opening before her Heaven's pure light. 



116 FELICITA 



XX . 

But now, a crisis came : she slept — 

That long, still sleep, whicli seems a Poiver^ 
By which life's functions all are kept 
In mild abeyance ; many an hour 
She lay like death, while dewy calm 
Diffused thro' all her nerves its balm : 
At length she woke, without a pain — 
She breathed long breaths — she lived again ! 
Oh joy ! life, no more life in vain, 
Like a strung harp now music gave 
To his touch who that life did save : 
And thus, unto the virgin mother — 
Who she was taught, above all other, 
Did virgin hearts protect and bless — 
She sung out her new happiness : 



FELICITA. 117 

" Thanks to thee, Holy One, 

Dwelling above — 
Patron of maidens. 

And mother of love 1 
Thanks ! for the new life 

Which flows in my veins ; 
Thanks ! for the past strife 

Of sorrows and pains. 

Thanks ! for all suffering, 

That in its stern rigor 
Hath given my spirit 

New beauty and vigor : 
Thanks ! for the simshine 

Which dawns on my soul — 
Making the clouds of grief 

Backward to roll. 

Thanks ! for this feeling, 
Whatever it be, 

Thro' all my sense stealing- 
Like sweet melody ; 



118 FELICITA. 

Thanks ! 'tis no evil 
Which hideth away, 

When at thine altar 
M J soul kneels to pray : 

Thanks ! that it leads me, 

With heart warm and free. 
Into thy presence, 

As if 'twere from thee : 
Thanks ! for this feeling then, 

Like thy love pure — 
Help me, chaste mother, 

That thus it endure : 

Goodness its fountain — 

Oh ! let it still rise 
Up, where the source is 

Which goodness supplies. 
Thanks theuj thanks ever. 

Blest Mother above — 
Patron of loving hearts. 

Thanks for this love !" 



FELICITA. 119 

The stars whicli on Creation's morn 
Outburst in choral song together, 

Felt no more sense of joj new born, 

Than did this maid ; who asked not whether 

The world she built herself was real, 

Or, a creation but ideal. 



XXI. 

The child that feels a mother's breast 

Warm beating to its velvet cheek — 
That in her eye sees that exprest. 

Which uttered words could never speak ; 
Questions as much if its own love 

Finds in that bosom a response, 
As did this maiden — raised above 

All doubt in her preeminence — 
Question if her heart's quickened beat 
Another's bosom did repeat. 



120 FELICITA. 

The tide of her own sea of feeling 
So strong was, that it bore her on, 

Perchance in its deep flood concealing 
The rock that love might split upon : 

The ice-crust, which had hid her nature. 
Now with the current borne away, 

Emotion, like a curbless creature, 
Eushed forth with impulse naught might stay. 



XXII. 

Giacinto, like all generous spirits, 
Who estimate too low their merits, 
Never in other minds expected 
To see, as in a glass reflected. 
Impressions his meek self had made 
But^ keeping always in the shade, 
He thought that only felt and seen 
His benefits, not Ae, had been : 



FELICITA. 121 

Swayed ever by compassion's law, 

He in the maiden only saw 

The sufferer — one whose bloom of life 

Had withered been by grief and strife ; 

And when, beneath his healing care. 
Her cheek and lip became less pale ; 

When her great beauty grew more fair ; 
When unto him she told her tale — 
Lifting from modest grief the veil ; 
He listened, as doth ever list 
The love-inspired philanthropist, 
When Sorrow its deep secret bares, 
Which by a right divine he shares : 

He burnt — his ardor was compassion. 
By purest sentiment refined ; 

But, not a spark of selfish passion 

Was with that holiest flame combined. 



6 



1.22 FELICITA. 



XXIII. 



And so, he never once suspected 

The impulse which her bosom stirred ; 
Nor, on a deeper woe reflected, 

When he her thrilling story heard. 
If sees the humane passer by 

His fellow struggling with the wave, 
He thinks not of some darker fate 
Which may, if rescued, him await ; 
He questions not for what, or why — 

His only feeling is to save : 
So, the humane Giacinto saw 

That maiden straggling with her woes- 
Obeyed instinctively love's law. 

To which fear nothing can oppose ; 
Drew her with strong, yet gentle force. 

From out an overwhelming sea, 
And from affection's living source 

Supplied her needed sympathy. 



FELICITA. 123 



XXIV. 



When wan disease to bloom gave way, 
He went forth with, her to the fields, 

And tried reviving strength to stay 
With the true cordial nature yields : 

Then, for the first time, she awoke 
To the fresh morning of the year — 

Spring thro' her myriad voices spoke 
Joy's language to her ravished ear : 

Her heart with rapture well nigh broke 

As doth the exile's, when his yoke 
Is rent, and he returns, to hear 
His native accents free and clear, 

Heaven's blessing on his heart invoke. 

XXV. 

From her gay coloring of joy 
Nature was painted all anew : 



124 FELICITA. 

The sky put on a iLeavenlier blue — 
The trees and fields a greener hue ; 
The lamb grew whiter, and less coy — 
More frolicksome the sportive boy ; 
And when skipped round in giddy whirls 
The rosy, dimpled, dark-eyed girls. 
The locks which o'er their shoulders streamed 
To her with livelier lustre gleamed — 
Joy's sunlight played among those curls ! 

XXVI. 

Joy too, was music in her soul, 
Whose echoes did all round her roll ; 
In every thing there was a voice 
That like her spirit's did rejoice : 
The brooklet, by trees hidden half. 
Sent from its hiding-place a laugh ; 
The doves, that cooed upon the eaves ; 
The whispers of the forest leaves ; 



FELICITA. 125 

The squirrel cHrping in the beecli-wood ; 

The insect humming round the thistle ; 

The robin's first parental whistle ; — 
— ^Each talking love, as plain as speech could ! — 

The carols of all amorous birds, 
And every sound that morning moved 
From every thing that lived and loved, 

Seemed to her, her own spirit's words. 



XXVII. 

Nature did in her realm employ 

The very motion of her joy ! 

The tame deer bounding o'er the lawn ; 

The liberal leap of mountain fawn ; 

The glad spring of the fountain's jet ; 

The dance of hillside rivulet ; 

And every creature's springtime gambol 

Her heart's wild beatings did resemble : 



126 FELICITA. 

Througliout all nature was revealing 

One — 'twas her own ecstatic feeling ! 

All things on earth, and all above, 
Seemed frolicking in joy's wide ocean, 
And all inspired by one emotion — 

The universal soul of Love. 



XXVIII. 

The wide world was in love with her, 

And she in love with the wide world I 
The breeze which did the meadows stir, 

Eassed too, her cheek ; the smoke that curled 
Upward at morn, as incense rose 

From hers to the great heart of love ; 
The breath of flowers, at daylight's close. 

Sweet vespers in her soul did move ; 
Each, all, to her, gave some expression 
Of kindred feeling : one confession — . 



FELICITA. 127 

One only — was there wanting still, 

The measure of her joy to fill :-] 
He, who for her gave love's sweet tongue 
To senseless nature and to brute, 
Upon love's theme was ever mute — 

How could he do himself such Avrong ? 

XXIX. 

Silence as forcible can be 
As words, and speak more thrillingly IJ 
In time this silence seemed to jar 
Love's concord in Felicita : 

Her own heart often to her lips 
Sprang up, demanding passage free ; 
But her mouth closed instinctively, 

And to her very finger-tips 
She blushed and thrilled to modesty. 

All other themes Giacinto talked. 

When they together sat, or walked, 



128 FELICITA. 

And if her heart unsatisfied 

Felt, perchance, sometimes when they parted, 

His mind a source was from which started 
A thousand ril:s that thought supplied : 
But, soon her burning soul these dried, 
And all her being felt the thirst — 
That still unquenched — by love was merst, 
Till it became a sort of fever — 

An inward fever, intermitting — 

From which' song did alone relieve her : 

Thus, when one day at her work sitting, 
She to love's influence did give her — 

— All other thoughts and things forgetting — 
Griacinto at her open door 
Stood unperceived, whilst, o'er, and o'er 

She sang in words her heart befitting 

The secret from him hid before : 

" Why, if he loves me. 

So silent always ? 
Love, when it moves me, 
Its feeling betrays ; 



FELICITA. 129 

But he says never, 

In tones of the dove, 
Thee I hve ever — 

Thee only Hovel 

Is not all showing 

That he my heart sways — 
As the tide's flowing 

The moonbeam obeys ? — 
Yet, the words never 

His tender lips move — 
Thee I love ever, 

Thee only I love ! 

Nature reveal'd to me 

Love night and day ; 
Soft tones appeal to me — 

All seems to say — 

Like a harp's quiver. 

Whose strings zephyrs move — 
6* 



130 FELICITA. 

Love me for ever — 
Thee ever I love I 

But no response to me 

Comes from Ms breast — 
Never sweet melody 

His love confest ; 
"Will that voice never — 
— ^AU music above — 
Say^ love me ever — 
Thee only I love ? 

"Why did he life give me 

Back from the tomb, 
If not to love me ? 

For love is life's bloom : 
Live shall I never 

Till tones of the dove 
Say, love me ever — 

Thee only Hove T 



FELICITA. I3I 



XXX. 

Giacinto with suspended breath 
Listened, turned pale, and started back ! 

As one who, having saved from death 
A child, and on the homeward track 

Led it — direct, as he supposed, 

While by night's darkness turned astray- 

To whom morn sudden had exposed 
A jagged precipice which lay 
Before them, yawning for its prey. 



XXXI. 

Turning from thence, with noiseless feet, 
He trembling made a quick retreat ; 
Sought his own chamber, and there pondered- 
At his unconscious blindness wondered ; 



132 FELICITA. 

Eeproached himself with bitter speech ; 
Then, as a penitent low kneeling, 
Asked pardon for the fatal feeling 
Which only pitj him did teach, 

And sought (not of the holy mother, 
For superstition ne'er could reach 

His soaring mind, which to no other 
Than God himself and Truth did kneel) 

Sought heavenly wisdom to undo 
Love's chain, or bind with hooks of steel, 

By friendship forged, its links anew. 

XXXII. 

For days he saw no more the maid, 
Hoping that absence might prepare 

Her heart, which had itself betrayed, 
The freezing light of truth to bear. 

He never questioned his own heart 
If love unseen was lurking there ; 



FELICITA. 133 

Because its depths in every part 

Lay to his sunny mind all bare, 
And at a glance lie saw no where 

A sign of love : Love's ill-aimed dart 
Had only pierced one bosom fair — 

Failing to wound that other breast, 

Whose balm, had it outpoured, possest 
Alone for her wound, heahng art. 



XXXIII. 

Yet, was Giacinto formed to love. 

As only nobler beings are, 
With a soul-passion, far above 

The feeling lower natures share : 
Of love he had no light conception. 

As the spent impulse of an hour ; 
He felt it a divine perception 

Of beauty's natural, moral power, 



134 FELICITA. 

WHcb. Heaven did to tlie mind impart 

Only thro' medium of the heart ; 
That in all bosoms true, must be 

An innate spark of love concealed, 
"Which, kindling but to sympathy, 

In unconsuming fire revealed : 

He knew that none had ever proved 
What real life was, till he loved ; 
But love was a spontaneous fire — 
It kindled seldom to desire, 
And never from its law did vary 
To serve will only arbitrary. 



XXXIV. 

He felt himself but half a" soul. 

And knew that somewhere on the earth 
Dwelt one who could make life a whole : 
Thus was his heart oft reaching forth — 



FELICITA. 185 

As the new moon, but half a sphere, 

Seems always reaching to attain 

Her other half; but, full again. 
In calm content shines round and clear. 

It would have been to find a flaw 

In Sovereign Nature's perfect law, 

Had these two beings, parallel 

In heart and spirit, met ; and well 

Giacinto knew Felicita 
To be in all too much his peer — 

That their resemblance was the bar 
Against a union still more near ; 
That love which best doth love requite 
Is centered in its opposite : 
Thus hoped he, and thus half believed, 
That the maid had herself deceived — 
That to love's law her mind would wake. 
And her heart find its own mistake. 



136 FELICITA. 



XXXV. 



But what, thro' tHs slow age of time, 

ThoTiglit, hoped, believed, Felicita ? 
Did she still sing her plaints in rhyme ? 
Or, did Faith bear her soul sublime 

Above contending passions' war, 
Where, with calm spirits, hers might chime ? 

Ah, none of these I 'twas one long night 
Of sleepless love's untiring watch — 
Listening, and starting up, to catch 

A sound, which distant far and slight. 
Could vibrate on Love's fine strung ear 
As thrillingly, as when so near 
That ears less exquisite might hear : 
Her heart's ^olian harp all strung 
Upon her open casement hung, 
Waiting in silence night and day 
For Love's sweet breath thereon to play ; 



FELICITA. 137 

Suspended were its spirit-tones — 

No music woke there ; tlio' sometimes 

That harp sent forth unearthly moans, 
As if a shade from other chmes 

Breathed on its chords at dead of night, 

While motionless they were to sight. 

XXXVI. 

Kot only did her soul keep fast — 
Her body too, without repast, 
Love's vigils with the spirit keeping, 
Wandered, unresting, as unsleeping, 
From door to door, from stair to stair — 

Her sad soul's faithful sentinel. 
Whose watch-cry ever, " No one there /" 

As ice upon hope's wild flame fell. 
'Twas not, tho' long, and dark, and weary. 
The starless night of black despair ; 
For that is still and cold, as dreary ; 
While here were glimmering everywhere 



138 FELICITA. 

Liglits wliicli as ignesfatui shone, 
Alluring her heart ever on. 



XXXYII. 

Love for its idol, hope, holds out 
Like a strong fighter against doubt. 
And rather than the contest yield, 
Takes subterfuges for its shield — 
Expertly parrying each blow 
Aimed by its tantalizing foe : 
Thus the poor maid, by doubt assailed. 

To shield the staggering hope she nourished? 
Made pretexts reasons why had failed 

Giacinto in his visits cherished : 
Perchance he, in his turn, was ill ; — "^ [ 
— This thought less comforted, than pained — 
Perchance, against his own free will, 

Despotic duty him detained ; 



FELICITA. 139 

Perchance lie loved, but thro' keen sense 

Of honor, towards her he protected, 
He deemed that love for confidence, 

A shade on Honor's name reflected ; 
And thus he sought by absence dure, 
His hopeless love to tame or cure : 

Could he but know she suffered still — 
That he had wounded even in healing ; 

His heart her medicine would distil, 
And hers assuage his wound revealing. 

"Love must itself" declare, thought she. 

In face of maiden modesty, 

" Feeling so true, so pure as this, 

May pour its spirit into his ; 
Ay, he shall know that love in woman 
Grives force, not man's, but superhuman." 



140 FELICITA. 



XXXVIII. 



Love reasons not : it was sophism — 

— Seeming than wisdom's self more wise- 
Whicli — ^like the serpent's skepticism 

Beguiling Eve in Paradise — 
Glided thro' darkness to the ear 

Too facile of Felicita — 
Beguiling thus away her fear, 

Until she saw the morning star 
Of promise thro' those shades appear : 

And when Giacinto came at last, 
Day with him broke upon her soul ! — 
Doubts dismal shadows back did roll — 

Her long conflicting night seemed past. 

XXXIX. 

Of his late struggles not a trace 
Eested upon his beaming face ; 



FELICITA. 141 

Yet, fewer words than ordinary 

He spoke, and these were choice and wary : 

This she perceived not ; her glad eyes 

Saw only in him joy's sunrise ; 

The hapless missive was prepared 

Which all her glowing bosom bared ; 

And when he left her, in his hand 

She slid the letter ; while a flush, 
That he too well did understand, 

Suffased her cheek — love's, not shame's blush- 



XL 



Ye who have passed the endless hour 

Of waiting-love — have felt the changes 
Of feeling's quick mercurial power — 

— Which thro' the heart's thermometer 
From Zero unto boiling ranges 
As rapidly as thought can stir — 



142 FELICITA. 

Ye can best coloring give to all 

The phases of this maiden's mind 
In that unending interval 

Of thought and feeling undefined, 
'Twixt her avowal, and his answer : 

The actual time indeed was long ; 
For with unguarded words to lance her, 

Had been true womanhood to wrong : 
Each thought's fine steel-point, that might be 
A wound to love or modesty. 

Was sheathed with gentleness, so soft, 
That when that fatal answer entered 
Where her deep life of love was centered, 

Absence of pain, delusive oft, 
Deceived her, while at first she found 
No sting in that too deadly wound. 
And blinded her a little hour 
To calm decision's honest power. 



FELICITA. 143 



XLI. 



In this response was nothing wanting 

Of all that Friendship's heart could offer ; 
Though nought of love was there, as granting 

Assent to what her heart did proffer : 
He told her Friendship had no wings — 

That Love was blind, and on his pinions 
Oft flew away : alas, how clings 

Passion to its frail, fond illusions ! 
She heeded not those whisperings ; 

But soared to Error's wide dominions, 
Loosing her from Truth's bit and bridle ; 

And there excursions made audacious — 
Clinging to false hope, her heart's idol, 

"With a grasp deathly pertinacious. 



• 
144 F E L I C I T A . 



XLII. 

Again she wrote : that Friendsliip's voice 

"Was not tlie eclio of her bosom's ; 
That her heart only could rejoice 

To music of love's soft southwest, 

Which stirs to sweetness all the breast, 
As Zephyrs stir the scents of blossoms. 
Silence with freezing force replied 

More fatally than words could do ! 
As cold intense to flesh applied 

Gives a keen sense of burning tooj . 
So icy silence only burnt 

Into her breast as mortal fire — 
In love's strong agony she learnt 

Then, how consuming is desire ! ^- 



FELICITA. 145 



XLII I. 

Before lier frenzied fancy rose, 

Oft bathed in blood, the hapless youth 
"Whose nnblest love a life did close 

So full of beauty and of truth : 
" Jules !" she cried, " when I gave thee 
Truth's lancing thrust, thine agony 
By Fate was pitied ; so, she gave 
Thee and thy woe an early grave. 
And this is her revenge on me 1 

Be more forgiving thou — come. 
Brave youth ! tho' noAV a bodiless vision, 
And once more liberate from prison 

My suffering spirit — from life's doom. 
Compared with which death is elysian !" 



146 F E L I C I T A . 



XLI V. 



The virgin sisters saw her strife ; 
But nothing said, and only tried — 
By gentle charities applied — 

To calm her wound, and yet the life 
Which love had lost, thro' love restore, 
That thus, it purified the more 
Thro' suffering, might attain the bliss 
Of virtue's perfect happiness, 
And long endure their aid to be 
In works of heavenly charity : 

But love — that can the bosom ope 
To every noble, generous feeling — 

When cold despair entombs its hope, 
And Heaven is deaf to its appealing, 

Can close that breast in egotism 
Upon its own — a world-wide woe — 

Or freeze it into stoicism 

Till it feels only life — its foe ! 



I' A 11 r • 1 1 



felioitA.. 



In gentle natures love, concealing, 
Like poison may life's heart corrode 

Slowly and silently ; revealing 
Its secret only in such, mode 

As other slow sure poisons speak — 

Thro' the wan eye and pallid cheek : 
But in strong natures love's a passion 

That worketh madness when restrained ; 
As steam, that raging from compression, 

Breaks iron which its force contained ; 
So the pent forces of Love's breath 
Must have an outlet — be it death ! 



150 F E L I C I T A . 



II. 



Giacinto's day of kindly toil 
Was finislied, and the midnight oil 
Wasted within his lamp, while he 
Conned science, or philosophy : 
And now he laid aside his book 
Into mind's mysteries to look ; 
Where lost in the profound of thought, 
He gathered treasures to be brought 
Into the light of day, with which 
Impoverished natures to enrich: 
Unto the spirit- world he listened ; 
Nor heard approaching footsteps rash- 
Till like a meteor's sudden flash, 
A blazing eye before him glistened ! 

What is it there ? the startling vision 
Of passion, in its wildest beauty ? 
Or Frenzy's glaring apparition, 
That from reflection's tranquil duty 



FELICITA. 151 

Sudden his manhood calls " to arms !" 
Against himself and woman's charms ? 

III. 

Or, is it ? Yes ; Felicita ! 

Her dark hair o'er her shoulders streaming — 

Veiling one eye, the other beaming 
Amid those tresses, like a star 

Thro' the black shades of midnight gleaming ; 
Her pallor, thro' this parted veil. 
Like to Death's visage, freezing pale. 

By the black pall, which hanging over, 
. Its ghastliness doth not all cover : 
Her light, within a lantern's shade. 

Seems hke a funeral torch to glimmer ; 
And in her other hand a blade, 

With red glare from that light, doth shim- 
mer : 



152 FELICITA, 

Her voice a terror in him wakes — 
As from a sepulchre it speaks ! 

IV. 

" Behold 1" she said, while that knife flashed, 

As with the hand a tear she dashed, 
" The frenzied child behold, in me, 
Of unrelenting Destiny ! 
Nature that made me to command 

The heart of man, as beauty's queen, 
Blushes, ay, bleeds to see me stand 

Before thee, as a suppliant mean, 
Asking for love that it were meet 
Should pray for favor at my feet. 
Witness great Virgin, who protectest 

The sacred rights that maidens share—- 
Thou, wko tliy saintly soul reflectest 

In every vii^gin-bosom fair — 



F E L I C I T A . 153 

Witness tMne image now, tlirongh scorn, 
Defaced, deflowered, disgraced, forlorn ! 

And tlion, my guardian angel mother, 
Witness tliy child, that never yet 
Thy holy memory did forget — • 

Which honor wakens as no other 
Memorial or love can do — 

Witness with thy earth-bending eyes. 
If in this state, to thee untrue, 

Thou thy lost child dost recognize ! 
And thou. Oh, if the heart of man 

Within thy bosom cold is beating, 
Look, and deny, if manhood can, 

Love to the maid, whose voice repeating 
In agony its first, last prayer, 
Implores thee, in Love's name, to share 
A heart than which no truer lives, 
Which here its life — or death — thee gives !" 



154 F E L I C I T A . 



V. 



Giacinto, frozen by tlie sight 

Of incensed love's majestic sprite, 

(For sucli the lofty maiden seemed — 
Breaking thus on him in the night, 

So that at first he thought he dreamed) 
The ice of sudden terror felt 

To love's subduing eloquence 
As suddenly give way and melt : 

He knew the maid must quick go hence- 
Her words to burn in him began, 
And, if not less, or more than man. 
Feeling would ere long conquer reason, 
And in his head his heart breed treason. 

V I. 

Soon as she paused, or yielded rather 
To feeling, which her words did smother 



FELICITA. 155 

Giacinto took her hand, whose grasp 
Convulsively the knife did clasp, 
And prayed her to renounce that steel, 
Which gentle hands should never feel, 
And quick her steps with him retrace 
To virtue's safer resting-place : 
And he would there his word of honor 
Pledge before Heaven, that looked upon her. 
To be to her the truest friend 
That Grod to woman e'er did send. 



VII. 

" No ! not my friend thou 'It henceforth be"- 

In queenly -^Tath responded she — 
" Thou art my heart's worst enemy ! 

Thou of the grave's sweet, silent rest 
Didst rob me, throw me back on life, 
— On life all loveless and unblest — 



156 FELICITA. 

To teach me — who woe's cup had drained 
Till not a bitter dreg remained — 

For the first time what is heart-strife ! 
Or, if the friend thou would'st prove thee, 
Take back the life restored to me — 
With this knife quick mj sorrows end, 
And show thyself indeed my friend." 



VI II. 

" Already hast thou struck death's blow : 

Oh ! let me linger not to die 
A thousand times in one death slow ; 
Or waste as tediously as snow 

That in the sunless vales doth lie : 
Grief beats against my bosom's bar 

With fulness of a giant-force ; 
All powers within me seem at war, 

And rushing blood demands free course 



FELICITA. 157 

Pierce then, this heart ! (she, kneehng here, 

The covering from her breast withdrew, 

And open laid to ravished vicAv 
Love's throne, as ivory white and clear) 

Ope here a passage, that the flood — 
The boiling flood of hopeless woe 
May, gushing forth, drown with its flow 

This life, dethroned, in purple blood." 



IX. 

"Abase not, maiden, on the knee" 

— Giacinto answered with a sigh— 
" That innate soul of royalty 

"Which unto me for blood doth cry : 
Else, live, and conquer thy great heart, 

Which reason's conqueror strives to be ! 
And tho' as enemies we part, 

True to ourselves if still are we. 



158 FELICITA. 

Not long as foes we shall remain ; 

Thou wilt concede that Friendship's chain 

(Which to the heart is silk to bear — 

To time as iron is to wear) 
Shall join us in its links again." 



X. 



He said ; and as to lift her made, 
But seized adroitly danger's blade ; 
When, springing with indignant grace 
Upon her feet, she raised her face, 
And from those eyes of darkened blue 
A lightning-stroke at him she threw — 
A flash of mingled love and scorn. 
Which of a Juno's wrath seemed born. 

And in its full blaze disappeared ! 
So suddenly, he half believed 

That in all he had seen and feared, 
Delusive Fancy him deceived. 



PART VIII 



FELICIT^ 



'TwAS early Autumn — ^when the leaves 

Begin to show a dying flush ; 
"VYhen earth departed Summer grieves, 

And merriest birds their carols hush ; 
When Avinds thro' forests breathe in sighs ; 

When clouds as funeral trains appear ; 
When over pensive nature lies 

A veil of hazy atmosphere : 
'Twas in the twilight of the day— 

That hour in every season holy ; 
Shadows upon the spirit lay, 

As over nature melancholy. 



162 FELICITA. 



II 



Giacinto, pensive as the season, 

And thouglitful as the brooding hour, 
Sat all alone with sober Eeason, 

Yielding to melancholy's power. 
Weeks, months had passed since that wild night 
When frenzied passion startled sight, 
And he again had never seen 
The face of beauty's incensed queen. 



III. 

Long time he waited a recall, 
And to the convent often went 

To learn what did to her befall ; 
But him she kept in banishment. 

^' The Sisters" told him that her cheek, 



FELICITA. 16B 

Once always pale, now oft looked flushed ; 
That her voice tenderer grew and weak, 
"^ And that her towering soul seemed crushed : 
That like a frost-touched flower she drooped — 

Her matchless head to earth oft bending, 
As heavy with oppressive thought ; 
That her form, upright once, now stooped ; 
That on her smooth brow lines were wrought 

By passions inwardly contending : 
But, that she uttered no complaint, 

And all day long in mercy's deeds 
Employed her hands — ^Love's suffering saint — 

Ministering unto others' needs ! 



IV 



Giacinto, in this autumn twilight, 

Was pondering gloomily these things ; 

When he perceived, as thro' a sky-light, 
Above him, poised on luminous wings, 



164 FELICITA. 

A form resembling bright conceptions 

Of angels on their earthward missions — 
— As sometimes to finite perceptions 

They are revealed in heavenly visions : 
His eye, transfixed by piercing light, 

At first discerned not in that face 
Anght, save refulgence dazzling bright ; 

But, gazing, he began to trace 
Features familiar to his sight, 

Kindled by that divine expression 
Which in Felicita seemed the gleaming — 

The visible, sublime impression 
Of Heaven's face on the human beaming. 



V. 



And yet the angel o'er him bending 
Was not that maiden : was it, then, 

Her mother's spirit, thus descending 
To cheer and bless her child again ? 



FELICITA. 165 

Or, on more welcome errand still, 
Came she now — as ambassadress 
From the stern court of Death, no less, 

Than sent by Heaven's sublimer will 

Her child's sad destiny to fulfil, 

And bear her to the realms of bliss, 

To learn there what is happiness ? 



VI. 

Whilst thus he questioned the bright vision 

Yanished ; Night circled him about 
With shadows, and thro' fields elysian 

The stars, as golden flowers, peeped out : 
Himself beneath night's curtain screening, 

He watched intent these starry flowers — 
As from them he would pluck the meaning 

Of what surpassed dim reason's powers. 



166 FELICITA. 



VII. 



From contemplation into revery 

Small space there is, and this he leaped ; 
But back again as quickly stepped, 
To greet another angel — one 
Who came not in the dazzling livery, 

In which Heaven's messenger had shone ; 
Tho' none the less Heaven-sent — ^for she 
The angel was of Charity ! 



VIII. 

She brought a message from the dying 
A dove, that life away was sighing, 
Into Giacinto's breast would pour 
Love's plaintive melody once more. 
To the heart's centre stirred his blood ! 
Another moment and he stood 



FELICITA. 167 

By the white couch where Beauty's life 

Was ebbing without pain or strife : 

The quickened pulse ; the pale of death — 

Chased by a bright, but fatal glow ; 
The pausing, then quick-heaving breath, 

As he approached her, all did show 
That hopeless love may life's chords sever, 
But life such love as hers kill never ! 



IX . 

On him she turned those spiritual eyes — 

— In whose blue deep already beamed 
The radiance of the opening skies. 

Whose waiting angel there she seemed — 
And gave him, with Love's pardoning smile, 

Her white attenuated hand 
In silence — speaking all the while 

Words his heart well could understand : 



168 FELICITA. 

These words grew audible in speech 
When calmed again her pulse's beat — 

As if his hand her heart did reach, 
And carry soothing to life's seat — 

And thus she spake, in soft low tone. 

As music from a tomb might moan : 



X. 



" Forgive the maid who wronged thee so- 
Alas, what seemed her fault was woe ! 
It is not strange that she, whose life 
Had been with sorrow one long strife, 
Saw in thy cloudless brow the mornmg 
Of a new life upon her dawning ; 
Beheved that thou the golden key 
Didst hold of her heart's mystery ; 
Since thou its secrets didst unlock — 



FELICITA. 169 

Eeveal the treasures of its love, 

And make its inmost fibres move 
Witli feeling's strong electric shock : 
Oh, no ! it is not strange that she — 
She who was Nature's simplest daughter — 
Believed when that true mother taught her, 
That what her bosom felt for thee, 
Must live in thine — ^must mutual be — 
Twin-born she said, was sympathy : 

But, I have learned too, of another. 
Truth which woe from experience wins — 

That sympathy, of love the mother, 
Conceives not always herself twins. 



XI 



"Heaven, that forgave my fond heart's error, 

Hath taken from death all its terror. 

And called me to a higher state, 

Where dwells perchance my spirit-mate : 
8 



170 FELICITA. 

A sunless life liath mine been ever ; 
Save where tliy presence shed a ray 

Across this soul, which ceases never 
To thank thee for one cloudless day — 
That left with me a sweet foretaste 
Of heavenly love to which I haste." 
The dove, with her own sigh opprest, 
Sank silent back into her nest. 
Where downy white she lifeless lay ; 
Save that her palpitating breast 
Eevealed where life did lingering stay 
With love, that could not pass away. 

XII. 

Giacinto thrice essayed to speak ; 
But sobs alone tlie silence broke : 
And Avhen at last in Avords he spoke, 

Words too impoverished were and weak 
To serve remorse which in him woke, 

And would relief in utterance seek. 



FELICITA. 171 

Moments tliere are in wliicb. a life 
Of tliouglit and feeling seems comprest — 

When years of bitterness and strife 
Wrestle together in tlie breast : 

As drowning men, wlio in one minute 
Live all their past lives o'er again — 

To whom Death holds a glass and in it 
Life's errors stretch their lengthened train ; 

So, in that moment's agony, 
Giacinto lived liis past anew. 

And now as murderous crime did see 
His fatal candor, held to view 

In light of an eternity. 

XIII. 

" Forgive me Heaven ! forgive me thou, 
Divinest maid, its angel now ! 

If there be pardon for a heart 
So dead to virtue's heavenly love, 



172 FELICITA. 

That all ia vain it did impart 
Its mission from tlie court above ; 

Or, if forgiveness may divide 

Its mercy with a homicide : 
live Felicita ! and prove 
How great is pardon, by my love ! 

For what love's passion failed to do. 
Its pardon, godlike, shall awake ; 

My heart already, in review, 
Sees, feels, too late, its sad mistake : 

No : love can never feel too late — 
Love is divine — its power to save 

Can vanquish even death's stern fate, 
And bring back Beauty from the grave." 

XIV. 

"Peace !" — said the maiden — "love is strong 
But stronger is the Power that wills 

My spirit where it doth belong — 
Which here my destiny fulfils. 



^k E L I C I T A . 173 

Call me not back to life — to love 
Wliicli tlioii dost only seem to prove : 

Believe me — ^for tlie dying see 
ISTo longer darkly, tliro' a glass ; 

But face to face the Trutk, all free 
From mists that witli earth's shadows pass — 

As virtue to thee crime appears, 
And virtue's strife as crime's remorse ; 

So friendship seen thro' pity's tears, 
Is into love transformed by force, 

And seems to thee that flame diviner, 
Which in my bosom still doth live — 

Which Death kills not ; but, as refiner, 
Back to love's burning throne shall give." 



XV, 



" Yet say thou lovest me : Love is strange- 
It cherishes such dear delusions. 



174 F E L I I T A .^p 

And words to things desired can cliange — 
Feeding with tliem its known illusions ! 
Yes ; say tliou lovest ! and loveless cliarm me ; 

As mnsic it Avill drown Death's step, 
And of earth's coward fears disarm me ; 

So, I to his embrace shall leap. 
As if into thine arms I sank — 
As if from that pure fount I drank. 
For which my heart so long hath panted, 
And which in Heaven's joy shall seem granted : 
Ay, speak that charmed word again — 
Love — ^for which life sighs out in vain ! 
Then I — with that blest prophet old. 
Who did salvation's Hope infold — 
Will say, " let me depart in peace ;" 
For to my heart Love now I hold, 
And in that rapture life should cease !" 



FELICITA. 175 



XVI 



A wound less deep than her's had healed 
To the sweet balm of kindly feeling ; 

But, at her heart's core lay concealed 

A worm, which drop by drop was stealing 

Life's blood away — that nought could kill, 
For 'twas his destiny to drain 
The purple current from each vein — 

Then die himself mth life's o'erfill. 

XVII. 

But day and night Giacinto watched 
That maiden's human beauties pass 
As flowers from the worm-eaten grass ; 

While spirit-charms, which angels' matched, 
By her disease was only heightened — 

While in her eye new lustre shone, 

And on her cheek a glow unknown, 

Which life's declining sun but brightened. 



176 FELICITA 



XVIII. 



Oh ! ye, to wliom cleatTi striketh terror — 
Wlio flee the chamber of the suffering ; 
Come where youth unto death is offering 

Its guileless charms, and learn your error ! 
For where's the monster that transforms 

True beauty into ghastliness ? 

No hideous power can Death possess 
Over the face which feeling warms : 

Pain may with feeling struggle — ^yet 
Will moral beauty there preside ; 
Nor can death's icy seal, e'en, hide 
The glow in which that brow is set — 
Which frozen, still bears Heaven's signet. 



PART IX 



felicitA.. 



The early Autumn now was over : 

The fallen leaves decaying lay ; 
While warmth stole back, as a shy lover, 

That parted, still doth lingering stay : 
'Twas summer stript of birds and flowers — 

Complaining thro' the rill all day 
Of freshness lost, of vanquished powers. 

And mourning beauty's swift decay : 
A haze hung o'er the cloudless west. 

Thro' which the setting sun poured gold ; 
As if from Edens of the blest 

Did angels, thro' a veil, behold 



180 FELICITA. 

The parting convoy they had sent 
To bear another spirit home — 

From exile, from imprisonment, 

Whose hour of freedom now had come. 



II. 



Felicita from her bed had risen 
To view once more departing day, 
And on a couch, half-sitting, lay 

Beside the casement : her clay prison — 
— A beauteous ruin to behold — 
With gates all ready to unfold 

At the divine word " liberty !" 

Around her, praying in low whispers. 
Gathered decorous the chaste sisters ; 

With crystals — ^purer none could be — 
Upon their 'kerchiefs white, that dropped 
Slowly from upturned lids, and stopped 

Where welled up their fount, chanty : 



FELICITA. 181 

Beside her, wrapt in silence monrnful, 
Giacinto sat — ^his own eye glistening : 
And now, prayer on its wing poised, listening 

To a voice like far music tuneful, 
"WMcIl from that waiting spirit poured. 
And thus its quick release implored : 

" Shades are falling, 

Angels calling — 
Blessed "Virgin, let me come ! 

Death is dreary, 

I am weary — 
Bid them bear my spirit home. 

" "Woman's suffering — 

— My sin-offering — 
Oh, accept thro' thy Son's blood ! 

Woe's refiner 

Made diviner 
Even his soul, innately good. 



182 FELICITA. 

" Let mine, sliining, 

Thro' refining 
Of heart-agony, now rise 

In the likeness 

Of His brightness 
Unto Love's own native skies. 

" Mother sainted ! 

I have panted 
Long thine eye of love to see ; 

Death concealed it — 

Death revealed it 
Just now, watching over me. 

" How thy pleasure 
Doth outmeasure 

What those angels there enjoy 
Heaven's high duty 
Lights their beauty — 

Thine maternal love's employ ! 



FELICITA. 183 

" Heavenly motlier ! 

There's no other 
In that angel-band so fair ; 

Envy could they, 

Envy would they 
What Sorn-angels cannot share ! 

" Come Death; ease me ! 

Love, release me 
From thy clinging earthly charms ! 

Farewell friends dear ! 

Love's strife ends here — 
Take me, mother, to thine arms !" 

III. 

With the last gleam of setting day 
That radiant spirit passed away — 

Here was no more Felicita ! 

But Heaven's sky showed another star — 
Adding new brightness there — whose ray 

Beamed on Giacinto from afar. 



184 FELICITA. 



IV. 



The empty temple of Iter clay — 

As marble wliite, by tapers lighted — 
So beauteous shone that it invited 
The loving mourner there to stay ; 
And there Giacinto knelt to pray — 
There fain would have resigned his breath, 
And sealed love's tardy vows with death, 
To be with her in Heaven united. 

V. 

"The Sisters" made of flowers her pillow- 
— Flowers best befitting virgin-bloom — 
And, 'twixt a cypress and a willow. 

Laid all that beauty in the tomb — 
Protected by the guardian-cross, 
And wept — not over Beauty's loss — 
But, that a daughter, true as she, 
Was lost to meek-eyed Charity ! 



FELICITA. 185 

VI. 

Yet theirs was not the final office 
Of love to the departed novice ; 
Giacinto's heart, that owed such debt 

As Friendship was too poor to pay, 
Eaised the carved marble, which tells yet 

Where blends with dust earth's fairest clay- 

VII. 

Oft at the hallowed twilight-hour — 
That hour supreme of her departing — 
When keen remorse had ceased its smarting, 

Drawn by a sadder, holier power ; 

He sought the turf inlaid with flowers, 
— Beyond the city's domes and towers — 

Where slept the maid — ^where angels hovered — 
And on that turf devoutly kneeling, 

His head to evening-dews uncovered — 

His hands clasped o'er the fount of feeling — 



186 F E L I C I T A . 

Thus, in low wliispers, unto God 
Sent up Ms sorrow from that sod : 

"Heart of human hearts supernal — 
Living Source of life eternal ! 

From thee emanates 
Effluent Love — a vital river — 
Thy soul is the heart's life-giver — 

Thy life love creates ! 

" God all-knowing, God all-seeing ! 
Thine eye penetrates my being 

As a searching light : 
Thou hast seen it thirsting ever 
For this well-spring, which did never 

Yet its thirst requite. 

" 'Twas because love's effluence tarried, 
That my heart, a desert arid, 
Gave no answering bloom 
To the fair and fragrant blossom 



FELICITA. 187 

Which did waste upon my bosom 
Its divine perfume. 

" Lay not to my charge the dying 
Of this Flower, which vainly sighing 

For responsive breath, 
Shut its heart up, and infolding 
Sweets, with bitterness corroding. 

Faded into death. 

'' Had thy heart of love mine nourished. 
This lost flower had never perished 

In its own perfumes : 
Perished ! ah, in Love's blest Eden — 
— Flower immortal of thy garden — 

Fairer now it blooms ! 

" Peace my heart ! thou art too earthy — 
God was just, and thou unworthy 

To possess this Flower : 
Love divine for aye will nourish, 



188 FELICITA. 

What mine was too poor to clierisli 
For life's little hour. 

" God, yet cheer me with its odors 
"Wafted here from Eden's borders, 

As Love's sweet replies 
To the yearnings of my spirit 
Paradise, thro' love, to merit — 

Love is Paradise!" 



STJe 3Entr. 



RICHARD THE LION-HEARTED 



THE FIRST IN THE SERIES OF 

ROMAITIC BIOGRAPHIES 

TO BE EDITED BY TUE 

REV. F. L. HAWKS, D.D., LL.D, 

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The following is the Table of Contents, and will indicate the char- 
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As a gift book for the young people, it will be very profitable, as well as amus- 
ing.'" — N. Y. Observer . 

" ' Harry's Vacation ' is a standard book for holidays, and for all times. Its 
moral is pure and high, and it is filled with curious and interesting information, 
from which the old as well as the young may derive piofit and pleasure." — 
Evening Mirror. 

" Foremost amongst them is ' Harry's Vacation,' by W. C. Richards, A.M. "We 
like it. It is one of the old-fashioned sort of story-books, whose aim is to combine 
instruction with amusement. A couple of schoolboys spend their holidays in the 
country at the house of Dr. Sinclair, the father of one of them, and pass their 
time agreeably enough in listening to the old gentleman's illustrations of his favor- 
ite science, Cllemistr5^ He does not lecture prosily and learnedly like a Professor; 
but contrives to interest the young folks by the discussion of some offhand topic, 
such as the frost on the window-panes, or the dropping of a plate from the hand 
of a careless servant. We are not in favor of cramming the child-mind with 
much learned lore ; but we can readily commend this affair of Harry's ; it is so 
pleasantly written, and with such a home-like thread of story running through 
\X.''— Albion. 

JAMES S. DICKEESON, 

PuBLiSHEK, New York. 



<^ 



OR 

F^CT ^N^D POETRY 

OF 

Italian f iff, f itcraturt, aiilr Jlf ligioiL 

BY ROBERT TURNBKll, B.l),, 

Author of "Genius of Scotland," "Christ in History," &c., &c. 

FOURTH REVISED AND ILLUSTRATED EDITION, 

CONTAINING 

SKETCHES OF MAZZINI, GAVAZZI, 

AND OTHER CELEBRATED ITALIANS. 
Price, $1.00. Gilt, $1.25. 



" Dr. Turnbull gives us the orange groves, and the fountains, and the gondolas, 
and the frescoes, and the ruins, with touches of personal adventure and sketches 
of biography, and glimpses of the life, hterature, and religion of modern Italy, 
seen with the quick, comprehensive glances of an American traveller, impulsive, 
inquisitive, and enthusiastic." — Literary World. 

" At a moment when Italy is abrtut to be regenerated, when the long-standing 
spirit of the people is about assuming its ancient vigor, a work of this kind is 
desirable. The country, its people, and its prominent features, are given with 
much truth and torce." — Democratic Eeviao. 

"The title of this book hardly does justice to its rich and varied contents. It 
gives genial sketches of the literature and literary men of Italy, past and present, 
taking up city after city, describing each place m order, and then noticing both 
its political and literary history. It contains, moreover, an account of Pius IX., 
with two very judicious chapters upon the present condition and prospects of the 
Paviacy, and of Italian liberty. It is not only a very pleasant book, but a useful 
and instructive one." — Methodist Quarterly Eeviav. 

JAMES S. DICKEESON, 

PuBLiSHEE, New York. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

016 117 858 5 W 



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